Vestige Dawn
by Dark and Chaotic
Summary: Transformers Prime AU. The fleet found itself in the middle of nowhere. Their only hope is a binary star system that gives them more questions and almost no answers. On the other side two factions of a robotic race struggle for survival. The result is a clash with a changed humanity lead by a Wayward Prime aboard a fleet with the bare minimum of a skeleton crew.
1. Chapter 1

_Long story short, I think we died. Its the most logical explanation my mind can come up with when faced with the overwhelmingly impossible odds that landed us in this situation._

"Impossible? Go with highly improbable, if you truly wish to be accurate. After all, impossible things don't happen and highly improbable do, no matter how unlikely."

I glared at our resident passive aggressive CMO and my best friend before turning back to the tablet in my hand. I rolled the stylus in my hand mulling over whether to retort something back or not.

 _Long story short, I think we died. Its the most logical explanation my mind can come up with when faced with the overwhelmingly_ _impossible odds that landed us in this situation._ _highly improbable odds that landed us in this situation._

"Don't let your grandfather read this. Or anyone of the crew, really. It'd be very demotivational if Earth's Poster Girl for Humanity turned out to be as psychologically scarred and traumatized as the rest of us."

I exhaled audibly, irritation starting to seep into me as fast as lightning. I was coping as best as I could, just like everybody else. Hell, I've been coping with this ten years prior to everybody else and for me, the current situation was an improvement. As much as death and afterlife could be called an improvement to near-total anihilation and carnage like none other in the known human history.

"Can I please finish this without any more interruptions?" I ground out, glaring.

"I thought you didn't like anyone poking around in your head." it was a statement and not a question.

She was right, of course. But I needed some sort of outlet that did not involve wanton violence and massive colateral damage. Hannah said that writing a journal or a diary of sorts would help me with that, as well as with my ever growing paranoia. Hannah was my resident shrink, which was really, really ironic on a cosmic level, considering the closest she'd ever come to actual emotions was when she and her sister were told their brother Sam had died. Along with myself, he was the only other casualty of my team back in... those days.

Anyways. Hannah. Hannah Woodsworth was as petite as they came of us tin cans and she was serene and tranquil and so, so useful even in the most critical situation. Hannah, Helen and Simon Woodsworth. The Woodsworth Sibs. They lost their parents in a car crash when Hannah was just a small baby. It was that car crash that had Hannah devoid of all emotions and having her the way she is now. A high-functioning psychopath. I am sure that she is fond of us in her own, unique way that she was unable to express. But that cold logical void of emotionless stability was practically a pillar for most of us in the Fleet. As our resident psychologist it was her job to prevent us killing each other until we finally reach an actual star system where we could finally take a breather and figure out where we were and how the fuck things went as wrong as they did.

 _We are the Vestige Fleet. I think it is a fitting title, since I've no idea if we'd ever make it back to the rest of humanity._

"It is quite fitting. But we will find a way home. I've faith in you."

I bit my lower lip and looked at the ground. Maybe years ago I would've jumped at the challenge and given it my all. But now... I am so tired. I am tired of heartbreak and disappointment and there was only so much madness that even the mad could handle. All little miss Dr. Passive Aggressive here achieved was making me feel guilty. Guiltier than usual.

Guilt was a good motivator, too.

 _I wish things were different. But the cards have been dealt and I always play to win._

"I always play to win." I repeated out loud and finally looked at MJ who was dutifully fixing one of the small joints connecting a wing-plate to the whole complex mechanism that was my left wing. The light blue glow comming from her eyes was still visible, even behind her visor whose HUD was cluttered with all kind of tabs and stats and who knows what else. I always forget to ask her about her visor. For such a neat and ordered person, her HUD was certainly anything but.

"Hannah says you worry too much about everything."

"That comes with my job description of being your boss."

"If I remember correctly Hannah had you on an indefinite medical leave."

"Can we not talk about this right now? I am trying to find inspiration to finish this entry-"

"You've barely started-"

"Because you keep interru-"

"Me? Interrupt you? Why I never!"

"You are do-"

"I would never even think about interrupting anyone, let alone you!"

We would've continued this camaderie if she didn't have to answer her communications array on the other side of the med bay.

"Good news, Donnie. They've found Gravity's arm. This time."

I scoffed.

"She started it." I replied as haughtily as I could, given that if I raised my hackles (my armor plates) she'd probably stick a finger in a sensitive spot and have me squirm in the ground with that holier-than-thou expression on her face just to show me up. MJ tolerated petulance as much as I tolerated traitors. She also happened to come up to my mid-thigh, which made her that more terrifying.

"And you finished it, which, to be honest, I don't care about since no matter which one of you wins the round, I always lose."MJ paused for a moment."I always lose precious free time to fixing you vagabonds"

We bicker a lot. But it's friendly banter, something from the days before the Blitz and sometimes, if only for a little while, I felt like the girl I used to be – no cares in the world, free-spirited and, most of all, happy. The reminder was bittersweet. It was a reminder of how much I lost. How much we all lost.

The Blitz was humanity's first contact with another life form. It was a swift and brutal invasion that ended because of sheer dumb luck, no matter what anyone else says. I'd know best of all – I was the one to end it all. All it took was my life and Simon's life. The end of the Blitz marked the beginning of a new Era for humanity. We were now a spacefaring race, what with all the technology we gained from our victory against the Xarynthians. Well, not so much a victory as it was a culling at the hands of yours truly. You couldn't get more metaphorical than this to boot. Hell, the Xarynthians' whole civilization was hive based, with each and every one individual in their race was neurolinked via a special contraption on the back of their necks. We know that now. Before, the closest you could get to a Xarynthian and live to tell the tale was around fifty meters. Cybernetically enhanced, mecha wielding, slimy, ugly amphibian fucks the lot of them.

So, the hive mind wasn't much of a natural thing with them. Everything Xarynthian was centralized in a single, supreme leading force, all of which happened to be contained on their Flagship, currently the retrofitted Valkyrie Transended. AKA yours truly's very own ship. There's a story behind that too, don't worry. This was also something we found out post factum. But I digress, more on that later.

In typical epic adventure RPG fashion, the hero, along with their faithful sidekicks, stormed the enemy flagship. The end result, you already know. I do not remember some details clearly. It was something to do with the way Human short term memory worked in general. To be honest, I don't really even want to recount in that kind of detail. Sam's tragic demise still haunted my dreams. What I do remember however was the white-hot pain and oblivion searing through my whole being. The white light, the darkness, the stars, the whispers in the void. A rush of everything and nothing, that insane sensation of feeling your own death and the continuous and full realization that death would not mean deliverance from this hell I'd been trapped into. I'd never wish this upon even my worst enemies, this separation of body and mind. I saw my own body obliterated by a massive energy surge. The verb "saw" being ridiculously inaccurate but the shortest possible explanation. I had no eyes to see, no ears to hear, no nothing. Not even darkness. There was only the void and the others. The whispers, a tug upon my very mind.

Terror was replaced with anger and the whispers in the void grew anxcious. Something pulled at me, then something else. Inquiries, outrage, confusion, curiousity. A world of new and foreign emotions, mingling with my own, overwhelming me. There were no sensations, there was nothing to distract me from this chaos, this blistering pull at my everything.

It was too much. Too much and too soon.

Not now, I pleaded. To whom I did not know. Not when I was so close. This had to end.

I pulled.

I pulled harder.

Something snapped.

The whispers in the void became screams of agony.

When I finally broke through these binds upon me the screaming stopped, the tugs stopped and there was nothing and at the same time there was everything. And everything, my whole being, was filled with pure, unadulterated sadistic ecstasy, like a cruelly delayed blissful release but so much more powerful and immeasurably deep.

I blacked out, as much as one could within this strange state of limbo, When I came to, it felt like an eternety of sifting through this void to finally understand and take a hold of my situation.

I had been literally downloaded into the Xarynthians' systems to become part of their hive mind. A fluke or a mistake on their part, I do not know, but here I was, the very epitome of chaos within their very orderly systems and consciousnesses. My accidental invasion upon their most vulnerable parts had rendered their previous leader, this ancient old cunt of a coot, dead and despondant and me their new and glorious leader for all of 0.3386 nano seconds, at which point I had mercilessly and unknowingly laid waste on their collective hive mind. Trillions lives snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

Just like that. An entire civilization gone with nothing but their very own Grim Reaper as a last living vestige of what they once were. It did not matter that said civilization was like a ravenous cloud of locusts, straight out of movies like Independance Day. It does not matter that I had no idea what I had done at the time. All that matters was that I revelled in their pain and destruction and I had taken pleasure from that.

I stood amongst the ashes of a trillion dead souls. I ask myself amidst the ghosts of my actions if honor matters at this point. If there is even glory to consider. There was this surreal sense of deja vu that reminded me oh so very much of the video games I had loved to play when I was young.

In those first few days there was nothing but emptiness and self-contempt. In those first few days I made a promise to myself. One that I'd actually strive with all that I am to keep. I was never good on keeping promises to myself, but now things were different.

Never again. That, I promise with all of my being.

Never again will I let something like this happen again. _**That, I promise.**_

 _Remember the lost._

 _Make Right._

I look at the plates covering my forearms. The carved out sketchy letters were looking slightly fainter, making me scowl. One thing that pissed me off about our self repair systems was how they couldn't take the hint and let the damn letters scar and, you know, REMAIN. I was stubborn like that and since these words were important to me, I regularly self-mutilated my forearm armor plates with my very own wickedly long clawed fingers.

I poised one clawed hand over my forearm but MJ promptly pulled at my very sensitive helm fins, making me gasp and yelp at the same time.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that!?" she scolded." I'll gladly carve the words myself with a **sterilized** medical equipment. If you get another stupid infection, I will not treat it."

I glared at her.

"I mean it."

I shrugged, feeling slightly annoyed, but mostly glad for her support in all of this. MJ's always been there for me. She was what true friends looked like. It's friends like her that you call to hide a body and feel perfectly secure that they wont rat you out or stick a knife in your back. After the Blitz was over, after everything that had transpired, I was left with a precious few true friends. I had... done right by them, to be honest. I doubt many people could boast to have managed to keep their precious people alive through all of this mess and still relatively intact.

I regret the death of my parents. I had never been particularly close to them and I still believe that in life all they've ever been was disappointed with whatever I had become. Still, I sometimes fancy that they would be proud that I had managed to protect my brother. It was luck, really, that we survived the initial wave of attacks. I was with my grandfather, my cousins and my little brother in a villa in the middle of nowhere with MJ, her parents and the Woodsworth siblings. It was a relatively tight get together that had been ultimately aimed to take my mind off of things. Or rather, take my mind off of my baby son who at the time had been given to his father and his wife.

MJ worked carefully and with practiced ease on the healing gashes on my left forearm. _Remember the Lost._ I had lost my son during the Blitz, and, yet, his father and his wife, who used to be good friends of mine, had lived.

Now, only Rose and her baby girl, an adorable strawberry gold colored flier type, was all that remained. They reside on the Plutonia and Rose is under no circumstances to set foot on my ship. Ever.

Some bridges are best left to burn. Leo had knocked me up, dumped me and then married Rose, to sum up the entirety of my situation. I had tried my best to cope with the situation by running away and hiding for months on end at MJ's home but at the end it was her father who had convinced me to man up and go to my parents before things get any worse. I respect the man for his social standing (he is a viscount), for being an excellent father and for his superb skills as a doctor, but I would never ever again take any tactical advice from him.

My sweet baby boy was born shortly after Leo and Rose's wedding. My parent had all but disowned me, which hadn't been a big surprise to me. I knew that they'd come around eventually, cus hey, I had this absolutely adorable grandchild they'd love to coddle and raise along with Fynn, my brother. But, as everything else in my life, things fucked up. Leo, under the urges of Rose's parents ( all three of them being lawyers), fought for custody of my sweet little Ori and, guess what? He won. How could I compare? I was practically destitute, living off of MJ's family's hospitality. I had nowhere to go and I just couldn't enter any university with my son being this young and needing me.

I had everything I ever loved taken away from me.

When the Blitz had started in earnest I had finally found out what I'd been good at. Tactical decisions, logistics, covert operations. The proverbial balls to pull the trigger and make the hard decisions when needed. Something that, as it turned out, I had inherited from my grandfather. Under his guidance I had quickly rised through the ranks after signing up to help the military efforts.

In MJ's opinion, which she had very reluctantly shared one night, if it hadn't been for Orion, none of us would have been here. In a way, in a very twisted and sick, and cruel, masochistic way, her words made sense and gave me a bit of solace. But in times like these, with the only company for my wayward mind being the gentle hum of the Valkyrie Transended, Sia's 1000 Forms of Fear playing quietly in the background and MJ's scalpel at work, it was hard to find solace in anything. Not when I couldn't even stare at the constelation after which I had named my long dead son.

"You are brooding again." MJ stated without ever looking up.

"It's... hard not to." I admitted softly.

Hannah's decision to give me a break still gnawed at me. I could never cope with not doing anything and just... relaxing for long periods of time. Micromanaging stuff, surrounding myself with things to deal with had always been my way of staving the madness. But now, with my Vestige Fleet flung across a randomly appearing wormhole, I just had no idea what to do. Not when this forced medical leave had my Grandfather operating the whole thing and myself purposefully out of the loop. It would be weeks before we reached the nearest star system and I was already at my limit for Random bullshit that I could handle.

One of MJ's underling medics burst through the doors holding a report tab. She walked away from me and I watched how she gingerly picked up the tab from him, a tiny human. Tiny, compared to my own size. Humans make me nervous and on edge, if only because my flier type frame was built like a death machine slash juggernaut. Very few frames have my particularly imposing size, most of which belong to the surviving members of my own family. Brian, in particular, the second youngest of us, had the largest Flier Frame among the entire fleet.

MJ turned towards me and she had her lips pursed in that particular way that told me I was not going to like whatever it was. Which was easily explained by the fact that I wasnt allowed to take a look at any high-command reports during my _vacation._ I rolled my eyes and shrugged.

I stood up and carefully stretched my wing plates, so as not to break anything.

"I will be in my quarters." I said to MJ.

" Commander Dawnbreaker." the human saluted and I nodded before leaving.

Vacations suck and that's my final semation.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannah wasn't satisfied with my first entry, mainly because I treated this assignment like I did everything else- with a grain of salt and three nucear warheads. So now I have a far more specific writing assignment with me having to write down my feelings as they are, without trying to use philosophical speculation to distract from the purpose of all of this.

Logic dictates that one has to be of sound mind in order to lead thirteen thousand or so lost souls through the depths of space. Thing is, I am the last person to be pegged as sound of mind. I work best under pressure and my methods are most often than not unconventional to say the least. There was nothing conventional about our current situation, too. There hasn't been anything conventional about it from even before we started this ill-fated expedition and people like myself were perfectly suited to take the reigns.

There is also the fact that when I am out of the loop, so to speak, I am also dying to know what is going on. My curiousity bordering paranoia is best handled when surrounded by known factors. It is easier for me to make contingency plans that way, because I know that if something fucks up, I'd be the first person they'd turn to and they, the people who need help and who are inadvertedly responsible for this catastrophic hypothetical situation, would want me to produce miracles. And despite what even the Pope says, I am no miracle worker. Shit will go down, I get blamed for everything because fuck logic and I am the most convenient and obvious target to become the scapegoat.

Well, fuck this shit, I say!

I will be taking the reigns back in a few more days with a few forceful words of choice and a bit of diplomatically applied backbone. I know my own glare has nothing on my Grandfather, but its still pretty damn good when I'm pissed. MJ will support me unconditionally because we are bros and her Pa is pretty much responsible for the Healthcare of the entire fleet. But that would mean we'd have to set aside resources and stuff for that project of his. Resources that we need to keep under tight leash at least until we reach the closest solar system and it was still some ways away. We don't know what we will find there, despite our preliminary results pointing towards favourable conditions for us. Most of the crew is extremely excited as this solar system possesses a pair of twin yellow suns and, from what we've gleaned, at least three terrestrial worlds. To be honest, I'm really excited too. As botched up as this is expedition turned out to be thanks to a totally random wormhole, I just cant help myself but feel giddy at the thought of being one of the Earthen Pioneers to tackle new star systems.

This brings me to one of my greatest failures in my humble opinion. Interstellar exploration had many Star Trek and Star Wars Fans and the like opt for naming the magnificient dreadnaughts in our disposal after famous sci-fi ships. Among the arsenal of technology the Xarynthias had left behind in their demise we had 50 dreadnaughts and numerous other ships that the rest of humanity is still probably picking up from all over the Solar System and retrofitting. And cleaning up from rotting, froggy, cybernetically enhanced smelly carcasses. Eugh. Anyways. In lieu with sci-fi tradition, I had fervently participated in the petition for naming the ships after ones such as the Millenium Falcon, the Death Star, The Voyager, The Enterprise... We failed miserably when faced with greedy franchise owners. The folks at Bioware were nicer, though, and that is why one of my twelve Exploration vessels carried the honorable name of the Normady, now designated as the Normandy SR3.

So far, for the seventeen years that have passed after the Xarynthian Blitz, we have only three operational fleets, all of them sporting heavily retrofitted Xarynthian vessels of various sizes. While using second hand ships saves us a lot of money for developing such technology on our own, there are still tons of expenses to consider. Xarynthians operated on a slightly lower density atmosphere with nearly the same ratio of gases as on earth and generally higher percentage of humidity that one would normally feel comfortable in. While for us convertibles breathing air was optional, for the organic portion of humanity we had to work hard to decypher Xarynthian software so that we'd have a working, decent defense in orbit as soon as possible.

Well, saying we did this just for organic humanity is a tiny bit inaccurate. You may have noticed by now, but having mechanoids added as a subsection of humanity is a recent event. Of the seventeen years from the end of the Blitz till now, I've spent ten as a glorified software aboard the Xarynthian Flagship. Seven years ago the salvage teams had recovered and brought to Earth one of the Exploration vessels that is currently part of my own Fleet. Then, something happened and New York was razed to the boom, just a single, powerful shockwave. Of the millions that resided in the Big Apple, only scanth few survived in comparison. Of those who survived, eleven thousand or so people were no longer organic. Thus a new subclass of humanity was born – the Mechanoids, as we are popularly called. Living Mecha, robots, cyborgs and other such terms are used with various accuracy. I am personally fond of tin cans, convertibles, rust buckets and whatever else comes to mind that is derogatory in nature but funny enough. Mostly derogatory. Still, for me this had been a vast improvement over all.

So, eleven thousand unlucky sods ended up stuck as various forms of transportation and even some as appliances. It wasn't pretty. As sturdy and superior we are to the organics in some ways, we still had our weaknesses. Even ten years after the end of the Blitz, Earth was still heavily recuperating from everything that those fucking toads did to us. It took days before actual help managed to come, seeing as all communication and electricity was obliterated as well as everything else. Millions lay dead, hundreds of thousands of people lay burried in the rubble. It had been days before anyone brought help. It was even more days before people realized that some survivors aren't human anymore.

It was an all-around tragedy that I am to some extent glad to have missed out on. The war itself was still weighing heavily on my mind without the need to have this replaying in my memories as well. After figuring out that the giant mechanical bodies weren't some sort of new invasion, people started helping those as well. I found the whole thing illogical and strange and made me realize that despite everything I still had some sort of faith in humanity left. Compassion was a fundamental part of being human. When the... mechas began waking up, some freaked out. Others saw the suffering of those around them and overcame their shock for the sake of saving a life. As word spread, the world itself fell silent and in awe watched as _people helped people_.

MJ says that in those first few weeks after the Event things had changed, somehow for the better. Sure, we were still separate ethnicities and religions and countries. But we were one people. Facial features are easily recognizable for both mecha and organics. The difference was size and frame type for the most part, but even so, there were certain rules that were generally followed by The Change. Frame type was the same for most family groups, though having an entire family unit survive the Event was the exception. Mendel's rules of inheritance applied here with rapt accuracy, which I found to be hilariously ironic. As if this whole situation was some sort of mutated mechanoid pea experiment to begin with.

I think of the Event with bitter resentment for many reasons. Of all the millions that died, of all the thousands that had been Changed, I had been the only one to truly benefit. And after all these years where life just kept on taking from me, the one time it decided to give... Well, this had to be the cherry on top of the cake. For me, this fact was a very heavy burden to bear, to pile on top of the others. Everybody else had been forced to adapt.

I am not the first to cruch these numbers, and I would not be the last. Many scientists – anthropologists, medics, engineers, mechanics, psychologists and psychiatrists; many scientists have tried to make sense of what had happened. The reality was simple, but it carried just as much tragedy as the rest of the Event. Of the eleven thousand that had been Changed, there were those who died of their wounds inflicted by debree or by people who had mistaken them for another alien invasion. Most had died due to malnutrition by the end of the first month. Most of those who had died were children. Ranging from newborn babies to mid-teens, those poor souls had perished in the death grip of hunger. Of the eleven or so thousand who had been changed, for every ten females there had been a single male. By the end of the first month the eleven thousand had been reduced by over two thousand. By the end of the year the total number of living mecha was just shy of seven thousand or so folk. Men, women and the very few extremely resilient or lucky children.

Seven years later and New York looks vastly different from what it once was. During the Blitz Xarynthians used tactical precision strikes thus most cities, despite the heavy human losses, had remained standing for the most part. The only thing recognizable of the old New York was the Lady of Liberty, who, despite being somewhat dinged up and chipped, stood tall and proud amidst the ruins. Money had been spared for her repair, but the people liked her the way she was now – the same as we, humanity as a whole, were. Chipped but _free_.

A more notable location of the New New York was the mass grave site for those who had died during the event, both organic and mechanoid. The location had been turned into a beautiful and well-maintained Orchard park smack-dab in the center of the city with many memorial stones littered all along the walkways and a big one in the middle of a small artificial island, which was situated in the middle of a shallow artificial pond. It was the centerpiece of the whole location and I've spent many hours feeding the ducks and the pigeons, lamenting, brooding and contemplating, all within the span of my lunch breaks. There are different kinds of fruit bearing trees in the orchard as so to have flowering trees from the earliest days of spring to midsummer. Whoever came up with this had done a beautiful job of creating a proper place for rest for the dead and those seeking solace and, at the same time, giving hope for those still living.

Nowadays there were newyorkers and, well, _newyorkers_. You can tell the difference, since there arent many who actually still live in New York, compared to what it used to be. Now it was mostly an industrial slash research slash military center. It was also one of the few big cities with relatively intact harbors, which also made things easier. Well. A typical newyorker from the Old New York is easy to recognize. But then we have the other _newyorkers_. Now, that definition carried just about the same connotations as the words astronaught, pioneer, explorer. Oh, and crazy. Being called a newyorker carried the luster of a shiny new badge that you showed off at any opportunity. It was indeed a lustrous, exotic and fickle calling that the lot of us here aboard the Vestige Fleet all had in common and we took pride in it.

Why wouldn't we? The war was behind us and we had all this new technology that we reverse-engineered bit by bit. By the time the Event happened we already had two flourishing colonies on Mars and a large space station in orbit around Jupiter. All in the short span of several years after the Blitz. I was not really surprised with this, seeing as I had been there all along the way, transcribing Xarynthian tech tirelessly day and night, unlocking more and more scientific breakthroughs by the hour. It was an enlightening experience to be able to have, if an albeit tumulous one, considering my emotional and psychological state at the time. I had mostly fond memories of the time, taking happiness and solace in whatever way I could get.

I was witnessing the dawn of a new era, one that held promises of expansion across the stars and, just like the rest of humanity, I was completely enraptured by this prospect. When my ship was first discovered lying somewhere on the bottom of Michigan Lake, I really hadn't expected to have any company. I hadn't even known I had been at the bottom of the Michigan Lake until I managed to maintain some form of communication with the outside world. Between the end of the Blitz and the moment I had been discovered, approximately three years had passed. Three years which I had spent in total isolation. The majority of that time I had spent in quiet, passive exile, waiting for some form of end to come. I had eventually come out from this funk I had been in. It had been gradual but I had never been one to be idle and all I needed to do was but to want for something to get some kind of reaction from my shell. The hardest thing I have done to date, bar coping with the death of my son, was decyphering the Xarynthian language. People went to university for this, studied mathematical equasions and patterns for years and years before even submerging themselves in the murky waters of translating ancient, but still NATIVE, texts. I, on the other hand, a genius with only but a high school diploma, had to not only decypher the glyphic alphabet but the general grammatical structures of the Xarynthians. Which was now officially a dead language, by the way. It had made me feel creepy on many, many occasions.

Thankfully I had one thing going for me and that was the fact that whatever this Xarynthian software was, it was designed to be operated by a consciousness of some sort whose commands were then translated into the ones and zeros that we know. At times this whole trial and failure routine had me praying to whatever deity was out there listening. Years from then I still conveyed my thanks to whatever great cosmic power was looking out there for me. One wrong command, one wrong program to tinker with and ...well. Now I know the dreadnaughts are equipped with Planet Busters, which frankly explained the mindblowing power requirements these babies had. And also their massive sizes. The Dreadnaughts were as big as cities in their own right, armed to the brim with all sorts of cannons and the like. They also possessed moderately sized hangar bays with an assortment of small space crafts. Our other big ships consisted of 20 or so Explorer class, a few science vessels and only a single Lazaretto that had enough space for about one hundred thousand people. About a hundred or so assault ships that we know for certain so far, including the ones we destroyed during the Blitz. We also had practically hundreds of light and heavy cruisers and then some other ships, though not all of them were battle ready, seeing as some crashed when I pulled the proverbial plug on the froggers.

Pfft. Pulling the plug on the froggers. For some reasons its sounds hilarious to me, making me teeter between hysterical laughter and breaking down in tears. Still funny but so, so wrong and horrible. I try not to think about them much.

Doesn't mean I don't, though.

So... We have three battle ready fleets. Well. We have two battle ready fleets and then there is my fleet, which was designated specifically for exploration. I've worked day and night with little to no rest to make this happen and just seeing all of this around me, even a year after the fact, still left me at awe and filled with warmth. It was an obvious nessecity to have a fleet such as my own. For the most part my ships are empty but even so my crew numbers around thirteen thousand and slowly and steadily growing, seeing as I have civilian families on board as well.

Of the twenty Explorer class ships that we had uncovered, twelve had been assigned to my fleet. It had taken around four years of tireless and intense work to retrofit the Lazaretto into something truly useful for humanity. For all intents and purposes the Lazaretto was a mobile city complete with its own gardens, orchards, fields and pastures and it was essencially designed to support a population of over three hundred thousand people once it reaches maximum capacity. The bulk of the civilians live on the Lazaretto and provide us with our organic-based materials. It was the most important ship and our prize possession and all our security measures are based around evacuating the Lazaretto first and then the other ships' crew. The Lazaretto was designated as The Prospero – a shiny and luscious name for a shiny and luscious ship that held all of our hopes for future interstellar expansion. All in all, The Prospero was the perfect seedling ship, literally growing colonies while on the move, ready to seed the first suitable planet in sight with humanity's finest.

So, twelve explorers, one dreadnaught, three science slash research vessels, a dozen heavy cruisers and twenty five light ones. That represented the bulk of my fleet, not counting The Prospero, of course. All the ships had just the bare minimum of crew to operate the ships and we also had about a hundred or so pilots who were still perfecting their technique operating the small crafts carried by said ships. Each large ship was self-sufficient to some extent, especially the explorer class ones. It had been obvious even in the earliest days of reverse engineering that the entire Xarynthian craftswork was based on survival in deep space. The engines that made all of this possible were still way ahead of our engineers and mechanics. While not literally self-running, considering our current power consumation, fuel would not be an issue for many, many years to come, steady population increase withstanding. And the engines were also the most secured area of any ship. Considering how well armored and hard to penetrate the Xarynthian shipwork was, if one were to imagine a wallnut loosely wrapped with tin foil and then thrown on the ground, the tin foil would be crushed and the impact on the wallnut itself would be minimal if any at all. That was how well the engines were protected. So far we know enough on how to maintain them and repair them to some extent, but not how to produce such engines. We have FTL (faster than light) and something akin to a warpdrive that we haven't used yet and don't plan to use anytime soon, unless we are desperate. The warpdrive, from what I've gathered during my ten year non-corporeal stint, has some sort of stealth cloak function, but neither myself or my team of over a hundred and fifty top of the crop scientists couldn't figure it out. That thing is like a physics loop hole in its own right and aside of the commanding officers of each of the ships and the fleet council operatives (the Council being our governing body, sort of) none of the other crew members or civilians are aware of the presence of the warpdrives.

Whatever the warpdrives can do, ripping a hole in space and dragging down my entire fleet into it was not one of those things, especially when they were deactivated. Thus we are presented with the question of what caused it. And who? But, most importantly – why? These questions were all the rage as of the last few weeks and it was one such dispute of said questions that got me on forced medical leave to cool down for a while. You see, aboard a space ship it's one thing to be a small and squishy organic and throw a hissy bitch fit. Me, on the other hand... Well, I am a pegged into the Mechanoid Classification Act as an F55 which would generally translate into being between twenty-five and forty tons of heavily fortified (and frankly quite exquisite) wingspan. I am seven and a half meters tall in base mode, which is around twenty-four and something feet. Basically, when I throw a bitch fit, it's anything but hissy and usually half the ship knows shit is about to go down from the tremors alone.

So... the Mechanoid Classification Act is all about weight, armor and frame type. You won't see any type of weaponry mentioned here or anything about power differences at all. When we were Changed, with a very few exceptions, our base modes lacked any kind of weaponry, except for a handful or military models whose weapons had been integrated to remain functional even in this mode. Also, in an attempt to dissuade a mecha arms race that would lead to a mass-murdering catastrophe, only these three physical categories – weight, armor and frame, had been applied. Attempts had been made to distinguish civilian and military frames, but that had been squashed out early on as well. The majority of the military frames had been normal civilians before. The Mechanoid Classification Act was created as a form of medical aid, since, despite how versatile our body parts were in terms of anatomy, we all shared common structural characteristics that held true for each Subclass.

Generally my type is one of the largest, though not the heaviest. Since we are fliers, our frames are lighter than those of ground-based frames with similar size. That is why you might see someone like me, who is an F55, all imposing and tall and stuff, but I'd barely compare, for my class speccs, with, say, an A39, which is the aquatic based Mecha equivalent of a nuclear submarine. And yes, we have three of those, though not aboard my fleet, thankfully. There's barely any use of a submarine in space, let alone of that size. If I'm still having trouble after all those years trying to handle being around small squishies, I just can't imagine what those gals and guy are going through. Anyways. Logic dictates that a larger and physically more imposing opponent should be able to overpower me.

And on theory that is correct to some extent. If I were to take a dip in the ocean and stand as still as a barnacle. In reality things are alot more complicated, again for many reasons. It is a very important fact to state that while all of us are technically made from various parts depending on our alternative slash mobile form, we all have these base components that cannot be replaced or removed without causing severe damage. That particular non-organo-biological gimmick of ours is referred to as protoform. It doesn't matter what sort of compatible alt you choose. No matter the changes, the protoform stays the same and only certain aspects of the exterior are changed. Discovering that not only one could switch from mecha to vehicle mode but to also alternate one's vehicle of choice had marked a milestone in the fervent research of our new bodies. But just as you can't choose literally any vehicle as an alt, if you are missing certain pieces of your armor or, God forbid, an entire arm, for example, you won't be able to transform, or you'd manage somehow to initiate and complete the sequence but would end up with a barely functional or a non-functional alt. Then again, while easily detached, armor pieces still have some semblance of movement, kind of like when a bird ruffles their feathers or raises their hackles. Its very easy to discern emotion from the state of one's armor plates.

It varies from person to person, but most people prefer to stay in their base modes. Some find transforming to be too unnerving to do it, others could spend weeks in their alt mode with just the open road ahead of them. Myself? I managed to develop a nervous tick where my armor makes me feel itchy when I get particularly stressed and, having claws like mine, that turned out to be serious problem. It's a rather common problem, too. As such, on most days I prefer to go about in bare protoform covered in either soft civvie attire or my uniform. And yeah, we have those, too, which is pretty awesome.

Us tin cans look more or less like our organic selves to some extent. I have a cobalt blue coloration to my protoform's dermal cover that corresponds to my particular skin complexion, which is light bronze tan. My eyes carry a deep azure blue glow, which is noticeably different from, say, MJ's light blue. The eyes, or optics as some call them, are a bit weird, since brown and black translate to yellow, orange and red. The blues and greens correspond to blues, greens and the occasional violet. Hair is a weird topic, too, since some have these helms or crest things on their heads, while others, like me, have a removable helmet with some sort of scaly plates for hair (like myself) or nothing at all. In almost all mecha original hair color translates into one of the mecha's default colors. As such, at the start of all of this we were all predominantly brown, black or golden bronze, with the occasional orange, red and the very rare silvers and whites, indicating older folk or albinism.

Age is weird for us too, since once a mecha has reached their maturity, they don't really tend to age physically. For example my grandpa doesn't look any less spry than us, his youthful bunch of grandchildren, but you could still tell he is older just by his presence alone. Our young ones age progressively slower until they finally reach maturity. Rose's little rosebud, for example, should've been almost adult as a seventeen year old and yet she still looks the ten year old little girl from the day of the event. Still carries that child's mentality to boot. While true that Rose would be the last person I'd want to have contact with that did not meant I didn't keep some sort of eye on her, if only to appease some of my restlessness.

Our diet constitutes of various fuels, minerals and metals. Also alcohol. We revel in that stuff like nobody's business mostly because its one of the few things from before that we can still taste. Sort of. Organic food as a whole must be avoided because it really clogs up our systems. Sunbathing is also an enjoyable passtime to restore a small, trickling amount of energy. It also makes us pleasantly lethargic like cats.

We have reproductive organs just like all humans have, but slightly different. During pregnancy the metal intake is significantly increased and the female mecha's body is under a lot of duress trying to nurture and grow a miniature new spark into an actual metal baby and then deliver it into the world. Being pregnant as a what is technically an autonomous robotic mechanism was what ultimately convinced humanity that we were still biologic in nature, even if we weren't organic.

Is sex better or worse as a mechanoid than as human? You have no idea how often that question went around once we mecha started settling.

I don't know. I haven't had the chance to try it out for a multitude of reasons, the least of which being that the only Mecha Males that I knew for a very long time were my cousins and my grandpa. The main reason I stay firmly away from any sort of attachments are personal issues and also because the last time a guy broke my heart, which also happened to be the first time a guy broke my heart, Orion happened. And while Orion was a good thing that I'd cherish for the rest of my existence, having said guy take custody of my child and then have the gall to permit my son to die for whatever reasons during the Blitz... That was not a good thing and Harry, my red eyed and black colored cousin promptly beat the shit out of and then decapitated said guy because I had been too broken and too much in shock to do that exact same thing. My grandpa is also ridiculously overprotective of me, being his only female grandchild and all.

So, no, I haven't had the chance to check out the... uh, _down and low_ side of things.

While everything else about us convertibles that is still mostly a mystery and open for debate and research, one thing manages to throw us all off. That thing is our sparks. Our sparks are globes of vibrant life energy that reside within spark chambers slightly to the left within our chests, successfully imitating to some extent the organic human heart. But, in all reality, its so much more than that. If it hadn't been for a bunch of horny rambunctious hippie students that didn't know any better, we wouldn't have known any better, either. It is commonly accepted that the sparks more or less represent not just our life essence, but our very souls. But before anyone goes into a chain of thought that falls within the purview of philosophy, lets go back to the horny hippie students. Allegedly this happened with a couple of MIT Mecha students who went at some sort of frat party with their buddies. One thing lead to another and it was discovered that if the spark was touched very gently and very carefully that would feel absolutely amazing, akin to a very fucked up quasi-spiritual jerking off. So, the two present mecha students, in a moment of infinite, horny rambunctious wisdom, decide to touch their two sparks together to see what happens.

That right there, ladies and gentlement, is how science happens.

Not the frat party possibly-orgy part.

The part when people try something out to see what happens.

It turned out spark merging not only made for a great equivalent of dry sex, but it also had the two participants connected and unable to lie to each other. Being where I am in the chain of command, I can safely say spark merging makes for a great interrogation method if you have trained your mind and are willful enough to prevent intrusions into your own psyche and emotions during the merge. It makes me die a little bit inside knowing that somebody spent the better part of the last five years perfecting sub-dom spiritual fucking as a particularly good form of interrogation. It may sound funny and for a total of five seconds I found it funny as well. Then my mind connected this tasteless practice with what was essencially rape on all posible levels and then I just felt like puking, all things considered.

At times, when I get out of my humongous bath tub I'd look at my spark and this other attachment to it that made me feel even more insecure about my own sexuality. Another thing to set me aside. Another thing to make me feel like a target, an unfortunate cosmic plaything of fate. Hell, if I ever got over the fact that I had the most mind blowing orgasm from killing an entire sentient race by accident, I'd have to deal with the fact I have this thing on me and THEN I'd have to figure out how not to hurt anyone in the throes of passion with the shiny wicked claws that I have for fingertips. I've never even dared graze my spark with a single finger and the thought alone of having these daggers near or, heaven forbid, INSIDE my shiny metal vagina makes me shudder in horror and phantom pain.

My non-existent love life and the topic of giant robot sex aside, the fact that we can have somewhat normal lives is still pretty mind blowing. Right about now we have three sparklings that have been born in my fleet since the start of our mission one year or so ago. Two had been from female mecha that had boarded pregnant, while the third, an absolutely adorable red grounder with small delicate fins and pale orange eyes, had been conceived and born aboard The Prospero. They were our little mascots and also among the first to be born without every having known what it was like to be such they'd know not neither the good nor the bad that was part of being organic. It was a little sad and, at the same time, it was truly for the better. One does not miss what they've never had to begin with.

We have a complicated biology. As such, studies and research began as soon as possible, my very own MJ, my best friend and current CMO of my ship, headed one of the most important projects concerning uncovering the mysteries of the Mechanoid biology. She had the right incentive for the job – I was found comatose, smack dab in the epicenter of the shockwave, Changed like the rest of the unlucky sods. I admit the circumstances were beyond suspicious but I honestly had nothing to to with whatever had happened. My team of one hundred and fifty or so scientists proved as such, showing a detailed account of everything transpiring in my systems. There had been an attempt to take me to court and be held responsible, but seeing as I really had nothing to hide for the past ten years and that having my team fully aware of all my processes marginally reduced research downtime, the accusation began and ended all in the time span in which I had been out of commission.

MJ speculates the reason I spent some six months sleeping like the dead was because I hadn't had a wink of sleep for the past ten years and for me that was a logical enough explanation. Waking up stiff, hungry and with aching joints and a muddy processor was the most wonderful sensation in my life. I had a body again and that was wonderful. Sure, I had to relearn everything, considering I've been pretty much doing a Voldemort in Albania for the past ten years but with a considerate Ghost in the Machine flare.

MJ, or Michelle (I call her Michael) Jessica Keats was British and from a long line of doctors. Her father was a viscount, which meant she was actual nobility and all that jazz. Her parents are still human and they are on board one of the research vessels, The Luminous Way. As an organic, MJ was slightly taller, but with a considerately slender build than my own, agile, athletic and elegant. She had a pale complexion, black straight hair and blue eyes and she had always been there for me.

MJ was cool and collected and, as stated before, a passive aggressive little shit. She was sarcastic and witty, always a perfect image of seriousness and very vindictive. It always took an effort to get a genuinely happy smile on her face but I liked the challenge. She was my BFF, my Bro, my Amiga and so on.

MJ was my right-hand woman when it came to everything and everybody on board the Vestige Fleet knew not to mess with her. Not because we were as thick as thieves. No. It was more of a case of her being able to kick my ass despite my size and stats which says a lot about how much effort and thought went about in that small custom job neon-lit Ford Mustang vintage muscle car that was da MJ.

MJ was first and foremost a medic, an organic doctor who, for the sake of her best friend, took up engineering and then subsequently mechanics in order to be best prepared to treat me and any other Mechanoid in need to the best of her ability.

She was my team's support back when I organized my strike group to take advantage of a temporary weakness in the Xarynthian Flagship. As a combatant, she favored sniper rifles, really long range and in close up she cut up them froggers with a machete like a boss. Most, if not all of my crew, is equipped with some form of machete. MJ was well versed in several martial arts, so that technically made her our resident ninja healer.

Aboard the Vestige Fleet were also some of the other survivors of my team, even people who you'd least suspect to be involved in such a high-risk suicide mission. People like our very own Helen of Troy, that's Helen Woodsworth, my cousin Harrison, Harry for short. Tifa and Benjie would've been here had they survived the Change. I miss them dearly as their support and dedication made all of this happen. Both of them were career military and I had learned a lot from their experience and expertise alone. I had Charlie and their daughter with me, though. Charlie, or Charlotte Georgiana was a sweet and innocent girl with red hair and the shiest disposition you'd ever meet. Even so she managed to strike a surprisingly strong friendship with Tifa early on in the days since we've met. Like most of us buddies in my small circle of friends, we always felt inclined to protect her to some extent. Even when she moved to live to the US from Paris when her uncle took custody of her, we kept in touch as much as we could, with Tifa going as far as visiting her every two weeks or so, despite living all the way on the West Coast, L.A. and Charlie near the East Coast with her Uncle. During the Blitz Tifa had done her best to find Charlie and protect her from the horrors of war. She had fared better than most, proving that despite her meek personality, she had greater inner strength than anyone of us realized.

Just like Helen and Hannah, I had taken Charlie and her ward Anabelle under my wing, feeling it my duty to continue on Tifa's legacy, just like how I did with Simon's – to protect those they loved. She had a position as a comminications officer, which was a pretty light duty that allowed her to have as much time as she could raising Tifa and Benjie's little Hellraiser. Well, Anabelle is a very well behaved big baby, though she does giggle at anything scary. By her size alone we estimate her to reach approximately two thirds of my own size or so. She was also an adorable pixie with her four rotary blades and her absolutely adorable golden and white coloration. Without a doubt all our mechanoid babies, sparklings as we call them, looked like little cherubs and produced the most adorable chirps when happy.

Charlie was a cherry red and pale bronze mecha with the rare ability to have two alt modes instead of one. Considering that she spent the majority of the last few years being Tifa's shadow, it wasn't surprising that one alt was a small hellicopter while the other was an ATV. She was classified as an M22, that is Multiform (short for Multiple alternative forms) with light armor and weight span between one and five tons. She was slightly shorter than MJ, who was classified as G32.

Aboard The Prospero I had the children of two other good friends of mine, though teens or young adults would be considered a more appropriate term. I would've had them aboard my ship, but my grandfather had put his foot down and reminded me that I had too many lives on my shoulders as a Commander of the entire Fleet to play babysitter to three teenaged mecha, one of which was my very own little brother Fynn. Mind you I was an exceptional babysitter back in my day, but that was neither here nor there and my Grandfather was right.

So... My little brother Fynn doesn't really remember our parents and he doesn't remember me as organic. Hardlight projection and manipulation technology was a thing on board the Xarynthian vessels, as the collective supreme consciousness of their leaders had to have some way to sway their crowds with awesomeness ocassionally. I've been able to manipulate said technology for the last 9 years, but in the two years before the Event happened, Fynn hadn't been allowed on board my very own dreadnaught. No matter how good the reasons behind that were, that was still my little brother that I had promised myself to raise and take care of and that I hadn't been able to even hug for such a long time. And that hurt immensely. Even now, he mostly sees me more as this cool heroic figure rather than his big sister. I've found it really hard to connect with him after all this time had passed and I've always been super awkward with mushy stuff.

Perhaps Grandfather's decision was for the best, seeing as I had too much on my plate and nothing could really be done to mend the huge gap that was between myself and my brother. He was trying to save me from a possible disappointment, I think. At this point in my life I've taken in the fact that I was destined to have bad relationships with my relatives. Even what I had with Harry was nothing like it had used to be. Closeness took participation and involvement – all things that I couldn't do because I was incapable of doing them for ten years and then I spent all my time and effort into creating the **D** _eep Space_ **E** _xploration_ **U** _nit_ **s** program, which was more commonly known as the DEUS program that promoted, as the name suggests, Interstellar expansion of the human race. It was a simple deal, really. I had the ships, so long as I could connect to them once they were found and the rest of humanity had the resources to actually support endeavours such as the Mars Colonies and the Europa One Space Station that was in orbit around Jupiter. All of those were things that happened in less than five years thanks to having the technology, the vision and the ambition. It was a war against beaurocracy, a war to ride the tide of my post-war ascension to legend and a PR campaign like nothing I've ever seen. I had politicians and businessmen clamoring for a piece of the popularity pie and all of this happened because my grandfather stood steadfast in his support of my dream. And here is a fun fact - the Russians helped when they realized the US wasn't too interested in supporting me, which was funny because supposedly everybody was friends after the Blitz, and now everybody was fighting over me, whose, at the time, most sophisticated form of communication consisted of drawing a smiley face with Xarynthian glyphs on a blackscreen.

It was a damn good smiley face if I could say so myself.

But yes, the news that I had surpassed death had made me an even bigger sensation. Sam's sacrifice lay all but forgotten, regrettably, in the wake of my miraculous return. Suddenly everything I've ever dreamed of had come true and yet at first I had found myself bitter and not wanting any of it. Not when people who I cared about lay dead in long abandoned ruins, not when I, as a mother, had to continue on when my own little boy lay dead. It was hard, impossibly so at times, but I had pressed on in spite of it all. I had found a way when most others would've given up and I had pushed through madness itself to make something of the cards I've been dealt with.

I wanted a better future for all of us if only to give meaning to the sacrifices of all those we lost to the war. MJ's words about Orion come to my mind very often. I look at my forearm plates, to the words I've carved into them.

I've done my due but there is still so much more I can and will do.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: For this fanfic I wanted something that I haven't seen yet – transformers integrated into human society as equals. I also had this idea of cyberformed humans who excel adapting to this new situation they're in. Also fell in love with the idea of transformers babies aka sparklings and mama bears and papa wolves keeping them safe.**

 **After the super long world building chapter two, I'd thought to give a bit of a different perspective than the slightly muddled one Dawnbreaker gives, if only to clarify some things. I'd try to portray things as accurate as I can and at the same time the way things would be seen from different points of view, though the main 1st person PoV will be Dawnbreaker's.**

 **That being said, I recently discovered a game called Homeworld which, surprisingly enough for me, had many of the major plot devices from my story present in one way or another. I had fun trying the game and I found it really awesome and somewhat hard since the last time I've played a decent RTS game was some ten years ago at least and this one was an RTS in a 3D environment. Now I have SAIL stuck in my head thanks to the remastered game's trailer but at least now I have a better idea of what I want for my fleet and how to achieve it. After further research into plausible types of spaceships and space based combat, I finally found the sci-fi formula that satisfied me. So now I have a fleet of practically empty ships save for The Prospero, aka the life ship, and a dead Cybertron to be explored by people who see it for the first time. All in all, funs to be had all around.**

 **There are several reference sheets I have going on, one of them being the Mechanoid Classification Act and another the general timeline of events from their original universe and how it compares to this alternate (TP based) universe.**

 **I've been thinking about adding certain characters that weren't in the Transformers Prime show, for example Ironhide, who was supposed to be one of the Team Prime members but since he died in the third Bayformers movie, Bulkhead was used instead. So if anyone has any suggestions, I'm open to hear it. Prowl, Jazz are also in consideration for Autobots and Thundercracker and Skywarp among others for the Decepticons.**

 **Anyways, enough rambling for now and on with chapter three where we learn more about the life and times aboard a lost fleet.**

 _[April 27th, year 2032, aboard the Red Calamity (also known as the RC, or Arcee, Research Vessel)]_

"We have repeatedly tried to open communications with HQ for the past month to no avail. Had the Commander been away from her fleet, the situation might've been marginally different."

"At this point in time the innerworks of Commander Dawnbreaker's connection with the Valkirie Transcended is nothing more than speculation, Captain. We cannot allow ourselves to grasp at straws, especially not when there are over thirteen thousand people's lives at stake."

"Yes, Major-" the Captain, a middle aged organic human man began, only to be interrupted by the large and imposing mecha next to his platform.

"Then what are we to do? Command has already been thrown into disaster. Lieutenant General Duskfire is doing an admirable job given the situation but the people need to see our fair lady holding the reigns at least for morale's sake. "

"First Lieutenant Anatoli Zhukovksy, I was expecting you to burst into this discussion with your usual lack of finesse. You never fail to impress me with your steadfast character and abyssal social skills. However, our current situation requires a certain degree of delicacy that you so obviously do not possess. Our dear Commander Dawnbreaker, General Fiona Johnson of the Third United Nations' Space Fleet if you will, is currently unfit to handle her own ship, let alone handle the problems our entire fleet is facing."

Anatoli's piercing blue eyes glared dangerously at the Major, a mecha less than half his size and yet still as dangerous as he.

"I taught Dawnbreaker to properly hold a gun long before you lot even knew there was an alien invasion going on. By the time you were cowering behind walls and praying for God's mercy, that spitfire was already advancing into occupied territories with her very own hand-picked team. That girl had nothing, Major! And she gave us everything! I'll be damned if she isn't the one person capable of getting us out of this mess!"

Anatoli stood up and turned to leave. He stormed his way to the door but reconsidered for a second and then turned to face the rest of his Ship Command.

"I understand your concerns Major, Captain. But you must also understand mine. Fiona gave us faith when there was none. All I ask is a little faith in return." With that said, Anatoli left the Major's private dining room.

If there was one truth about living aboard a research vessel, it was that lunch breaks were always dramatic, particularly on Tuesdays. Anatoli hated Tuesdays on principle. Today's impromptu unofficial meeting between the ship's commanding trine was due to the ever growing unease among the crew. Recent events notwithstanding, tension had been steadily growing, even before this freakish blue light ripped a hole through space and sucked the entire fleet in. It was the longest journey through space to date and the black void that was the interstellar space drove even the calmest into various states of anxiousness. While there was no such thing as space madness to begin with, no one could deny the presence of the ever growing tension and the amounting irritability of many of the crew.

Anatoli headed towards his own quarters and prepared himself a nice long soak to ease his strained back struts. Luckily for himself and the rest of the people aboard the fleet, the large ships had all been retrofitted with leisure activities in mind. The Arcee in particular had a whole hangar turned into a long strip of well maintained Carribean beach, palms, sand and an artificial blue periwinkle skies all included. And if that ever got old (which would never happen by the way) he could always pop over for a few Earth days to the Plutonia's ski resort and make himself a snow man. Or snow Mecha. The Prospero had huge racing tracks well apart from its normal infrastructure that were worth checking out, not to mention the ginormous training field complete with murky swamps, quicksand pits, a small area with recreated city ruins. The training field area was actually visible from space, as it presented one of the largest golden pearlescent hemispheres on the superior surface of The Prospero. The hemisphere was large enough for a small number of fliers to exercise their aerial movements and just practice working as a team. Of the fleet's hundred and seven flier types, only fifteen were capable of space travel, Dawnbreaker being one of them. Ten of those flier types were large shuttles and the rest being smaller civilian transport aircrafts. Of them all, Fiona was the only military frame.

Anatoli exhaled trying to rid himself of the lingering irritation that had been steadily building up since early morning. All three Research ships were working overtime trying to analyze all possible data about the binary system they were approaching. The closer they got each day, the more they learned and the more their data pointed to one possible conclusion.

Alpha Centauri.

The name itself left him slightly fearful of what they might find. Whatever happened at Alpha Centauri the outcome would still require careful but still desperate use of the warpdrives after they discovered the location of Sol in relation to Alpha Centauri. They had to go back no matter what, if only because they were simply not ready for this. Their crew was the bare minimum to keep the fleet functional and the large civilian portion took care of the organic farms that kept the whole operation going. The original mission of the Third Fleet was a five year long journey within the confines of the Sol System during which crucial ship systems and the crew itself would be stress tested in live action situations. Supplies were to be sent from the fleet to the two Martian colonies and the Europa Space Station along the way.

Everything had been going according to plan and Fiona, their Commander Dawnbreaker, had performed splendidly, surpassing even the most sceptical of the brass. Still, they believed the rank of General within the budding Space Fleet Military was too much even with her recommendations. Even so, Anatoli knew her well – she had the bark, she had the bite, but most of all, she had the indomitable iron will and the ingenuity to make even the craziest plans work. In his seventy-two years of age he had seen very few people with that kind of ability to inspire those around them. It didn't matter what the brass thought. They needed Dawnbreaker to lead them just as much Dawnbreaker herself needed to lead them, for her own sanity's sake.

Anatoli's internal comm pinged, making him stir from his thoughts and irritably growl loudly enough for it to reverberate within his bathroom.

"What is it? This better be good." he gruffed in his strong slavic accent. A moment later he abruptly stood up and grabbed his humongous fluffy towel. "I will be there right away."

 _[April 27th, year 2032, aboard The Prospero]_

"Three doctors, a spy and a Russian walk into a bar. Sounds like the start of a very bad joke." MJ commented as the doors closed behind her. Along with her in the room were her father, Hannah, Fia's grandfather and First Lieutenant Zhukovsky. Her father, naturally, scowled at her for her bit of tasteless humor.

"So how bad is it, Jungler?" Anatoli adressed her by her designated codename. He was taking gratuitious sips of what she assumed was either rocket fuel or vodka. Or maybe a mix of both.

"She suspects something is up but she hasn't yet started working it out what exactly is going on. Frankly Donnie's annoyed and more ornery than usual."

"That is a correct assumption of the situation." Hannah supplied softly, while scrolling down her notes in her tab. "Fiona has expressed substantial irritation with having this... vacation, as she calls it. She has been causing minor troubles just to spite the current Valkyrie Transcended command. I predict that once she gets bored of our lack of reaction, she'd start investigating the actual reasons for relieving her of command."

"Speaking of these reasons, what did the Arcee team discover, Anatoli?" Fia's grandfather, John "Duskfire" Johnson asked.

"Same as the Umbra Venator and The Luminous Way, I'd say, sir. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Large energy spike. Poof – the portal shit and then nothing again." Anatoli answered, leaving his metal cup in favor of handing over his data tab to Duskfire.

"She still doesn't remember anything either. As far as she is concerned, she hit her head really, really hard. I monitor her daily and there is nothing out of the usual. Same old Fiona." MJ, Jungler, supplied. The only hint of nervousness was betrayed by the rubbing of her hands, as subtle as it was.

"For Christ' sake, it's my little girl we are talking about here." Duskfire sighed and rubbed his face with one hand. Jungler could tell that he had had very little sleep of the last few days. "Damn what the brass says. My little girl wouldn't do this. I failed her once when she died and I won't fail her again."

"We have no idea how safe she is, even if its the same Fiona we all know. We have no idea what kind of effect that artifact has on her and, consequently, on us. It is clear as day that thing acts on its own and we can't even detect most of its processes on a good day. We will be passing within the territory of the binary system within a few days time. What I suggest is to have her stew until then, then have her back in command. Whether she is in charge or not does not matter. If the artefact activates, we will all be affected because she is still aboard the fleet. It is as simple as that."

"I don't like the situation any more than you do, Йохан, but I think we should listen to the big lady with the machete." Anatoli's grin did not reach his eyes in lieu of the seriousness of the situation. It did however reach his cup.

 _[April 28th, year 2032, aboard the Luminous Way, Keats residence]_

"Your father said he'd have words with you tonight, dear." MJ's mother stated as she prepared to start making dinner. Life since the Blitz had been marginally different to the one they had lead before the war, but despite how everything had turned out, she had accepted it with the grace and poise befitting any lady of her stature.

"I have no doubt about that, Mother." Jungler supplied softly as she sat carefully near her mother while reading through a report. She was pretty sure he was to reprimand her for her uncouth behavior earlier the other day during the meeting. While some things changed so much in the course of time, others – not so much if at all. It was both a humbling and reassuring thought.

"How is Fiona, my dear? I heard she has been causing trouble for her subordinates."

"No more trouble than necessary, I'm afraid. She likes to keep those in her command on edge, especially Virginia."

Virginia, or Gravity as she was more commonly known, was Fiona's Executive Officer aboard the Valkyrie Transcended, effectively her second in command and the one person whose tantrums rivaled her own. Like MJ, Gravity wasn't physically stronger or more powerful than Fiona. She did, however, possess a set of electromagnetic based weaponry that beat the scrap out of Dawnbreaker's massive, heavy frame. Basically Gravity threw her around like a rag doll, which made her into the perfect sparring partner for Fiona, as well as perfect entertainment for MJ.

"Ginny is such a lovely, nice girl, I really don't know why Fiona doesn't get along with her, they seem so alike."

"That is precisely why, mother." Well, that and _Ginny_ was as far from nice as hell was from heaven. She won her position aboard Fia's ship by being ruthlessly competent. Also because Fia needed someone to say no to her face amidst a sea of eager Yes-men and MJ hadn't been stupid enough to accept Fia's proposition. The Medbay was where she would've been most useful and that was where she was even now.

 _[April 28th, year 2032, aboard The Prospero]_

 **::Okay, okay. Now, when I give the signal, you go left and I go right. But do so the moment I give the signal, ok? Red Dread out. ::**

 **::Red Dread? Really? Try something else, Tifa, that one was really bad! ::**

 **:: Like you could do any better, squirt! Ugh! LEF T! NOW! ::**

Half a second of hesitation later the two jets narrowly avoided each other in a daring game of Chicken in the artificial skies. It was night time according to the artificially generated skies and there wasn't a soul in sight within the whole rice field.

A third jet was lazily gazing at their air performance, prefering to rest on a soft patch of grass at the edge of the field.

 **:: Vinnie, are you going to get up your lazy fat ass and do at least a loop? You've been lying there all evening! ::**

 **::M'tired, Tifa. And I like it here. It reminds me of home. ::**

The bittersweet twinge in her brother's reply made her spark constrict. She twirled her alt in the sky in an attempt to shake the feeling off and then slowly descended towards her brother. Fynn kept up his practice in the sky. Tifa, like her brother, had grown up with her older name sake, a soldier woman and a good friend of their parents. When the blasted Aliens had attacked, all that had been left of their previous lives was themselves, Vincent's teddy bear and a small picture of the four of them, smiling happily. The only reason they had managed to scrap by themselves for so long was because they were small enough to hide in unlikely places where the toadies wouldn't look.

Tifa, her husband Benjamin and Charlie were like angels sent from heaven when they had found them. It had been tough and they had missed their mum and dad so much. But she had remained steadfast and strong, even in the face of such strife. In her heart of hearts she believed that it had been her parents who had guided Tifa to them. When Tifa and Benjie had perished during the Event, Charlie and herself took up what the older Tifa had done before, and now they protected the younger ones – her Brother, Fynn and little Anabelle.

Looking at her brother's expression, she could see just how much he had on his mind. She understood him, to an extent and it scared her that she couldn't help him. Not with this. No matter how much she wished otherwise.

"Come on, Vince. You gotta train hard if you want to do well on the entry exams when we get back home! It'll be fun!"

"I don't know if I still want to." he mumbled, audial antenae held back and down low, and his red eyes looking away from his big sister. The two of them carried a similar scheme of black red and white with Tifa being predominantly white with black and some red, while Vincent was predominantly black and red.

Her own glowing red eyes softened. She placed an arm on one of his shoulderplates.

"You know I'll never let anything happen to you, right? I'm your big sister and its my job to keep you safe."

 **:: Shit! GUYS! THE GUARDS! ::**

Fynn literally landed on top of them as Vincent scurried to his feet and grabbed the two of them. All that was left of their presence a second later was a quickly dissolving purple mist.

 _[April 29th, year 2032, aboard the Illegal Danish forward scout light cruiser]_

" Oh, no, no, Daniel, that won't do. We had like five different cases where that didn't work and I have the slightest suspicion the sixth time would be a fail, too. Like, no amount of internets could fix that amount of fail, no matter how many tries you try."

There was a very small pause.

"But don't let my opinion bother you! You should try anyways! I could do with the laugh!" The female pilot cackled at her co-pilot, Daniel, who was actually the ground-based Mechanoid secured in the small cargo area of the Illegal Danish. Mary Wells' Once upon a time was softly and mercilessly playing in the background while Daniel stoically remained silent through the teasing of his team-mate.

"Oh, come on Danny, I wasn't that bad." She managed through giggles. "I mean, let's be honest. You're a class M12, sweetheart and she's a bloody shuttle, no matter how you look at it, that's some serious size kink."

"She was using her holo!" finally Daniel whined out, sounding ridiculously distressed from embarrassment. "And she's pretty nice."

"You upgraded to your adult frame just in time to sign up for the mission, Danny. And I'm just trying to look out for you in case, you know, some old ass cougars wanna go all pedo on your shiny-"

"Can we pleeeeeeeaaaaase stop talking about this?"

"Oh my god, Danny, you're such a whiner! But fine, I will have mercy on your pitiful soul and stop talking about this. But I require a nude pic. She's like what, seventy? I wonder if she even remembers what she looked like when she was young, haha! Seriously though, A nude pic. Just to satisfy my curiousity and I will leave you alone! I swear I won't tell anyone or show anyone. Space Scout's honor and all that."

"You're a horrible person and I hate you." Daniel said quietly.

"Well?"

"F-fine!"

"Oh, Danny, you're such a treat."

"Still hate you, Clare!"

Clare started chuckling but then abruptly stopped.

"Oh my God, Danny, come take a look at this!" her voice was high-pitched and barely above a hushed whisper.

Danny quietly transformed and carefully popped his head next to Clare to see what she was pointing at the monitor. He stared at the monitor.

"What is that?"

"I don't know but it looks artificial! Oh! I'm so excited, Danny! We just won the pole, Danny! Think of all the moneyz! Holy shit, I could just kiss you! C'mere!"

"Ack!"

 **~ To Be Continued ~**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I changed the summary to something more entertaining and boom! Two reviews by the time I wake up in the morning, which is pretty awesome since I am such a sucker for reviews.**

 **Anyways, a few random facts about my story: Earthen triple changers are all notoriously shy, opposed to the usual type of violent, batshit crazy. Brian, Fia's youngest cousin is the largest MILITARY frame. I dunno how that word disappeared from my text when I uploaded it. Generally, Flier Military frames, if not hellicopters, translate into Seeker frames and no, they arent more claustrophobic than the average person. On occasion, the Earthen military fliers also refer to themselves as seekers, but that term has different connotations than the cybertronian term. When I envisioned the Vestige Fleet, my mind produced Romulan ships from Star Trek, particularly the Mirror Ha'apax Advanced Warbird for the Valkyrie Transcended, which is my ship of choice in the Star Trek Online that I occasionaly indulge in. I try not to describe the ships on purpose. USA managed to find and retrofit the majority of the Xarynthian ships. The Russians, however, will be the first to produce the first Earthen space worthy ships. The first Earthen Dreadnought is called Catherine the Great.**

 **If I think of anything else I would add it in other author notes.**

 _[April 30th, year 2032, aboard the Valkyrie Transcended, Dawnbreaker's PoV]_

Something's up but I can't put my finger on it. Usually, when aboard a ship of any kind, finding solitary time is a big problem. The Valkyrie's big, but our crew numbers around near three hundred people, the bare minimum required to smoothly run the ship. Even as a Mechanoid of my size, I had still been capable of walking down the various halls of my ship with barely a soul passing me by on the rare occasion. Now, I can't even fall into recharge without feeling watched and I am getting pissed off. Sure, I have been a ridiculous nuinsance over the last few weeks, but that does not warrant ... well, this.

Anyways, I've been trying to subtly notice what exactly is going on. I can't really snoop or anything, because as a commander I have to be the very essence of confidence and I have to take everything in stride and show my crew how the cool kids do it. And that takes legitimate effort since being serious and stoic was not my schtik at all. Also, as part of my so called propaganda, there are people, even aboard my ship, that actually work on presenting me in the best possible light, like my very own P.R. Agents, which, come to think of it, is as ridiculous as it sounds, but quite necessary. According to almost all of my friends I can be a right ornery and obnoxcious bitch. And they are probably right, considering I was stubborn enough to kill off a civilization whose supreme consciousness was trying to subjugate me or something.

So, yeah. I have my very own PR campaign going even on board my ship because being legendary and brilliant could get you only so far. My speeches are rewritten at least five times before they get the A-okay to be unleashed upon the masses, especially because I tend to ramble and am generally uncouth when in a mood. It also took me years to build up a proper mind to mouth/fist barrier. After spending ten years of being a glorified software all I had to do to make something happen was to think of it. As such, many people got randomly punched by me for being a) annoying and b) little bitches. There was also option c) when I'd find punching someone funny on principle. And before you even ask, yes, I have been dealing with Hannah for many, many years, which is partly why I still manage to work with people. I've worked on building up my patience because everybody seemed so slow and took so much time compared to myself. So whenever I get randomly violent, there was also exasperation with the retardation surrounding me, which had been another direct result of being a living consciousness within a super computer.

To some degree I am still connected to the Valkyrie as I've managed to access some of her systems while attempting to meditate. Keyword attempting. I can't sit still for the life of me and I am too restless and uncomfortable, sitting cross-legged on the ground like an idiot. I just can't relax enough to really reach that calm state or whatever I am to reach while meditating. Which, by the way, is the whole point of meditating.

A thing about us flying military types and generally all mechanoids is that we have a very well developed and complicated bio-electromagnetic fields. Humans have those too, but theirs is tiny in comparison to the range even newborn mechas have. Flier military frames are particularly sensitive with probably the biggest range of said BEM field and as such we are able to discern if somebody is brushing by or within our BEM fields from very far distances. In comparison with, say, shuttles, hellicopters or the grounders, they can figure out they've come by someone's BEM field but they can't really figure out our location unless they can see us.

Occasionally, this type of mechanoids are referred to as Seekers, though the term hasn't really caught on yet, as accurate as it is.

Yes, I am a seeker, seeing as I am a flier military frame, if an unusual, spaceworthy one. My alt is some sort of non-Xarynthian spaceship with enough internal space for several small cabins and a cargo bay big enough to fit MJ in her alt in it. Basically I am the size of a light cruiser, if a bit smaller, but more heavily armored and with a lot of fire power. Like, a lot.

Anyways, my point is I can't focus on meditating because the mecha portion of my ship would buzz about my consciousness like a bunch of really annoying mosquitoes. There is always the option where I squeeze my BEM field really, really tight and close against my frame, but then I feel blind in that respect and even more paranoid than I was to begin with. There is also the fact that according to the meager mecha numbers in my crew, my BEM field tends to be oppressive and unbearable at times. So there we go, more paranoia, more things to feel insecure about and, to top it all off people are personally following me everywhere and if I go to my Captain's quarters, then a friend of mine would immediately come over to "see how I was" or "to chat".

Well, I may have been blonde, but I aint and never will be stupid. So maybe this would explain why I walk into the Valkyrie's command center and plop into the captain's chair like a thunderous cloud full of dark promises... and all three Mecha officers scurry out of my sight. It may classify as an abuse of power but I haven't felt this satisfied in months and to top it all off I can't be held accountable all the time to keep my BEM field to myself.

I am in an over all shitty mood. Every single time I tried to talk to MJ or my grandfather about resuming my post they somehow end up subtly changing the subject and while I am smart enough to recognize people doing that I am hardly as eloquent or as silver-tongued enough to get things going with words alone. My subterfuge lies in a very different direction. I keep attention to small details, I recognize when people lie and I can detect hidden motives behind seemingly innocent premises. I know when to physically nudge just that one small detail, that proverbial straw that can break the camel's back. That's what I am good at. Throw me in a viper's nest of politicians and elegant power plays and you see me either fall flat on my face or start throwing punches. Unfortunately the things that make a person one hell of a scheming and dastardly politician also make up the foundations of a good, successful diplomat.

Soon enough I see Helen of Troy, in all her pale pearlescent glory, walk into my command centre. She is all gentle smiles, elegance and poise and even though I could feel physically the strain my overbearing presence causes her, her posture never wavers, her armor plates are relaxed and her step is light. With but a few words and a few simple gestures she manages to calm me down without making me feel like the petulant child I know I am at times or as if I've been reprimanded.

Helen of Troy, as we called her. Helen Woodsworth as she was otherwise known. Gentle, fragile, lithe akin to a Tolkien elf and at the same time, steadfast and strong in the face of anything. If there was one thing the war and Simon's death brought about in her, it was her immeasurable inner strength and her resolve to be the gentle caress and the pillar of support we all needed in the dark times that had been upon us. Her presence was charismatic, enchanting, soothing and gentle like a lulaby. It was an oddly fitting comparison to say that where I was a terrible and vicious dragon, MJ was the knight and Helen was the princess. With the three of us, along with my Grandfather's tireless efforts and the combined hard work of many others, I was able to sit upon my proverbial golden throne and awe the masses with the things that made me the stuff of legends – brilliant white and gold armor, the mechanical wings of an angel that possessed the entire set of turbines powering my alt mode. At one side I had my gleaming shield and at the other – my sword.

Barring the obviously religious visage of Archangel Michael that I represented, my very existence, the fact I had transcended death itself to protect humanity and Earth and that I had _returned_ victorious and resplendent to once again serve the masses... As glorious as my story sounded, at least the one that was spread to the common folk, and as terrible and horrifying the truth was... I have realized on more than one occasion that it is a crushing reality that I live in and I have to cope every day with that fact, in small ways, with little habbits and rituals that spawned over the course of time to help me overcome my guilt, my shame and my regret. The people needed me to be the beacon of light to shine upon the bright and wonderful future that was ahead of humanity. People needed me to show my compassion, my wonder and my unwavering belief in humanity. And while I had a lot of grief that I was free to express because people could relate with it, it was the one thing I was unable to force forward, no matter how much I, myself, needed it. With each passing year I grew more cynical and disillusioned of this new life I had for myself. With each year I grew more violent and vicious. Perhaps I seemed uncaring. Perhaps madness had finally claimed the last vestiges of whatever sanity I had left.

Grief and the weight of my actions, good and bad, were eating me from the inside out. I was anxiously waiting for a judgement that would never come because to the people I was not a person, but an icon. A legend.

I don't give interviews to mecha reporters. When they are close enough, for long enough periods of time, they would be able sense my BEM field clear enough to understand that something is _fundamentally wrong._ Luckily, there aren't any actual mecha reporters with enough connections or popular enough to net an interview with me. I have no idea how long that luck of mine will hold out. Eventually someone will pop up and open my bag of cats. Eventually, I will crumble from the stress of it all when that happens, I don't want to think about the consequences.

Was this what the great leaders of old had to face? Had Alexander the Great dealt with dillemas such as my own? Did Cleopatra stir restlessly at night, fearing for what her decisions would bring to Egypt? All these questions are moot now, seeing as I can't get the answers I want from the source. All I can do is speculate, plan and plot. And I plot and plot, I move all the pieces on the chess board within my mind and I watch as hypothetical situations evolve before my mind's eye. The problems and solutions come to me before long and the process is repeated until all possible scenarios have been picked at meticulously. My powerful internal processor provides the number cruching needed, the percentages that supply my decisions with the factual support. The end result, a solid decision on a matter, is presented after I consult myself with my gut feeling. I listen to that thing. It has kept me alive far longer than if I had to have relied solely on my tactical mind alone.

Sometimes, not often, but occasionally enough, I forget about my problems and just enjoy being with my friends. Other times, when Gravity and I beat the shit out of each other, I feel oddly at peace with myself. Content. Beaten the scrap out of and tired as hell, but content. In these occasions I find myself happy enough to realize that, despite everything, what I am doing now and what I had done to this point has been worth it. I see my friends and family and I see them happy. I see them raising children, making a life for themselves in this strange new Earth we are all creating together. I see the little people mulling about in their everyday lives and I think to myself how lucky we all are to still have this. To still have our lives and freedoms.

 _[April 30th, year 2032, aboard the Valkyre Transcended, Captain's Quarters]_

"Michelle has a clouter of housecats in her quarters, Harrison has a most exquisite collection of delightful little song birds, Charlotte has a vibrant, huge aquarium full of tropical fish."

"And I have turned half of my room into a petting zoo for a flock of Carribean flamingos of the most deliciously vibrant vermillion color to feast your eyes upon."

"Indeed, my friend." Helen popped a small oil based treat into her mouth and savored the crunchiness that spilled into deliciously sweet gooey goodness, quite akin to chocolate in taste. "Say, Fiona, what has had you in such a mood this fine morning?"

"You mean other than the usual, Helen?"

Fiona exhaled and pulled away from the ledge that separated her room from the area, designated to her pet flamingos. She went over to her bed and carefully lied down on her back, hands spread and eyes peering at the well lit ceiling. Helen's small form still stood by the ledge, watching as the flamingos were foraging the waters for food. She was quietly waiting for a response.

"Grandfather and MJ and infact _everybody_ else has been beating around the bush lately. Your sister is still keeping me off duty for whatever perceivable reason. And you know exactly what I am talking about because my entire command is actively working on this. Whatever all of _this_ is. I have no idea what I've done to warrant such special treatment but I won't be having any of it soon enough. Furthermore, tell my subordinates and whoever else is in on this ridiculous plot that I've had it with this bullshit and that I've allowed this to continue for long enough because you are family. As the Commander of this fleet and as the highest ranking military it is my duty to ensure the crew's complete subordination during the entire length of this mission, as botched up as it is to begin with. I won't be nice, Helen, and the results won't be nice either."

 _[April 30th, year 2032, aboard The Great Expectations, Lt Gen Duskfire's Captain's Office]_

"So she has finally put her foot down." Lt Gen John Sr. lamented, his dark wings tense and held low and close to his body. His massive form was dark navy blue with wide, powerful shoulders and imposing armor covering his imposing physique. Familiar azure blue eyes upon a pale slate gray face and that same golden crown adorned upon a familiarly shaped helm with the exact same blade shaped audial fins that lacked, however, the expressiveness that was characteristic for Dawnbreaker's fins. The familial likeness was visible from afar and Fiona's cousins possessed more or less similar features. Fiona's frame, however, always seemed somewhat more. It was more armored, more powerful, more complicated. Her exquisite golden wings were a thing of beauty that she rarely displayed in their spread out glory. Helen felt regretful that Dawnbreaker preferred the comfort of having the wingplates aranged around her hips akin to a skirt of sorts rather than endure the absolutely resplendant display they could be. She as a whole was resplendent. But she was also so, so very tired.

"No." Helen replied, as she turned her thoughtful gaze toward these familiar glowing azure orbs. "She is simply reminding us that she _can_ put her foot down. And if that happens, it doesn't matter if she is dangerous to herself and others. The people would follow her anyways and we'd have unnecessary mutiny on our hands."

"We have chosen our poison well, it seems." Duskfire chuckled humorlessly." We always fight the monsters of our own make, Helen. Never forget that. And this time Fiona's monster is lurking in the darkness and we can't allow for her to see it. It would kill her this time for certain." The last part was barely above a broken whisper, terrified that his greatest fears would come thre.

"We have very little choice in what we must do." Helen said softly." Fia has given us an ultimatum and we must respond to it."

"And so this farce comes to an end at last, yet relief is not what I feel. Perhaps relief will come later, when our fleet has finally docked within sight of our Earth. You know, Helen, I've lost all four of my children to the war. My youngest, Jasper, never did manage to settle down and create a family of his own. His death hurt me the most, Helen. He was a vibrant and mischievous soul, free as a bird and as brilliant as my granddaughter. He had a long term relationship with a woman called Lilly-Anne but he was never quite ready to settle down with her. I have no idea what has become of that woman. I've looked for her and yet I've never managed to find her. All I have left of my youngest son is memories, Helen, and nothing else. My only granddaughter reminds me so much of him that it hurts at times to look at her. And, in others, when I see her face it is not the battle-ready warrior queen, but my small little six year old princess that slipped on the floor, chipped her tooth and proudly gave me that little piece, her face all grins and dimples. I can't lose anyone else, Helen. I can't lose her. I won't take it."

"Our Golden Queen shall restore her sovereignity and all will be well once more, in our little kingdom amidst the Great Void." the lady Woodsworth whispered softly as she slipped into his lap and kissed him.

The kiss quickly grew from soft and gentle to hot and desperate. It was an unlikely liason born from mutual loneliness. It was a liason of stolen moments of passion, veiled in secrecy.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Dunno what to say about Helen of Troy and Duskfire. Given the characters' respective backgrounds, their little affair is both as unlikely as it is appropriate given the things they've been through. Duskfire, aka John Johnson Senior is near 90 years old, while Helen is Fiona's age and they've known each other since she was ten.**

 **Anyways, I can't wait to bring Ironhide, Prowl and Jazz into the fold. I've tried to research their exact whereabouts or at least some sort of hint about them in the Aligned continuity that Transformers Prime is part of and since I haven't found anything pertaining to that, I pulled out their current location on a planetoid within the Alpha Centauri binary system where they are skulking in an old abandoned Energon Mining Complex. I thought it was fitting enough at any rate. If anyone knows anything, I'd be happy to listen to suggestions and additional information on the topic. There is still a bit more time before the two types of transformers have one hell of a cultural shockful of experience.**

 **There is another hidden Cybertronian character that's already aboard the fleet! He's been mentioned this chapter, though not outright. Can any of you guess who it is? I expect suggestions in the review section.**

 _[April 30th, year 2032, aboard The Prospero, Residential Area 7]_

Harry held his wings high and his posture was as dignified as befitting his post. He was walking towards his cousin Fynn, Lil' Tifa's and Vincent's shared residence. While he was glad to find some time for a leisurely stroll down the civilian streets and just enjoy the scenery, the reason why he was visiting was far from leisurely. As Chief of Security aboard The Prospero, it was his job to maintain the peace and prevent any budding crimes. There had been series of trespasses into restricted low density rural areas. He understood that some jets needed the exercise now and then but their number wasn't that big within the fleet and there was absolutely nothing stopping the wayward youths to just reserve a few hours at the training field to fly at their leisure.

There weren't that many rambunctious youths aboard the fleet and he knew that his search would narrow down to the fiery and overly protective Tifa, her brother Vincent – the reluctant accomplice, and his cousin Fynn – the enthusiastic one. There was a nostalgic tint to the whole situation. It was as if he was a teen again, covering for his cousin Fiona and her ilk's escapades. The thought brought a smile to his face and his mood lightened. As always, he was the responsible one that always warned them of the consequences and he was always the one to cover for his family and friends when need be.

Things were no different now than they were during his childhood. He had always felt that it was his duty to protect those under his care. He had always been the oldest one. Unlike him, little Tifa was far from his gentle and easy going character when he had been her age. But he saw the same protectiveness within the young jet's boisterous spirit. He figured he could pass down the torch to her when the time would come. She'd take to the challenge with gusto.

He started up his internal comm system and pinged his cousin.

 **:: Fynn, are you, Vincent and Tifa at home? ::**

 **::Uh, oh. Uh, yeah. Yeah, we are, Harry. Why? Did something happen? ::**

Bingo.

Harry pursed his lips and sighed in slight exasperation. He had his trespassers right there, just as he thought. He replied, however, with his usual tone:

 **::I thought I'd pay you a quick visit before going back to my duties. "**

 **::Ye-yeah, sure. I'll tell Tifa. ::**

As much as Fynn, Tifa and Vincent reminded him of the good old days, they were not a substitute for what they once had. Fynn was innovative and sneaky when prompted to be so, especially if Tifa was doing the prodding, and he was a smart and outgoing lad. He was no Fiona, however. He couldn't tell a lie without getting caught even if his life depended on it. At his age Fia had been a master escapist both verbally and physically, always looking for ways to get one up on the adults one way or another. The eternal rebel without a cause, a definite little Chaos bringer in her own right. And Vincent, while mild and polite in character, lacked MJ's razor sharp tongue and affinity for the fine art of trolling and sarcasm. All in all, it was a new generation of a golden trio with its own quirks and habits.

Their residence was little to no different from the surrounding ones. The only thing that really stood out was the miniature-sized trees and that was only because this particular Residential Area was designated for the comfort of the Mechanoids. It still had ramps for the organics, but the homes themselves were build mostly for the average-sized Mecha up to ten meters tall. There were several larger structures designated for the shuttles and the larger grounders. He looked above him to the artificial sky. It was obvious that it was a projection on a giant curved screen but it was still preferable to the naked metal ceilings and walls. An artificial twenty-four hour cycle was maintained within the entire fleet for the benefit of the largely predominant organic part of the crew. While some would refer to the whole nature simulation as an unnecessary expense, the psychologists had insisted them to be absolutely necessary for deep space travel, given the long periods of time where there would be nothing but the surrounding void for company.

As per usual, Harry was warmly recepted by the youngsters. Little Tifa studiously maintained pristine condition of the house with the help of her wards: Fynn - the reluctant assistant, and Vincent – the enthusiastic one. The living room, the dining room and the kitchen were interconnected and open to each other via large arcs. A mechanoid's kitchen wasn't different from one for an organic, with the exception of not having a fridge in the human sense of the word. In its stead, there was a specialized large storage holding appliance which maintained different temperatures in its separate compartments, depending on the "nutrients". Most food items the mechanoids required could easily be kept in normal room conditions.

Mechanoids, as it turned out, could feed on organic materials, however most organic foods lacked the needed amounts of raw energy for an average-sized mechanoid to sustain themselves. Organic based fuels and the like in their various forms were the preferred diet for most. At first taste left a lot to be desired. Harry still cringed remembering the sharp taste of kerosene on his tongue. Immediately world-renowned chefs from all over the world, chemists and whoever else wanted to help started experimenting in hopes of creating at least something palpable. In less than five years all major forms of tastes had been recreated. It was still work in progress, but now at least he could have, say, a glass of Kerosene and have it taste _and_ smell like orange juice. Meat and fish were still rather tricky to recreate. Some dishes still required organic spices, but he wasn't that picky. A chicken stew was still a chicken stew even if said "chicken" and the accompanying "vegetables" were small diced cubes of prefabricated matter. Sweets were always in high demand. Oil Chocolate cakes, strawberry cupcakes with gold shavings, crunchy truffle bite-sized cakes – you wanted it, it was there for the taking. For people like him, who disliked eating sweets, there were beef jerky metal sticks, mineral chips, various nuts and popcorn were a fun mix of metal, minerals and fossil fuel derivatives. Salads were a glittering metal foil and shavings masterpiece. The sheer demand for such food items proved once more how much human was actually within these metal titans. Nothing said human like the need for comfort foods.

Tifa had Harry join them for lunch. He noted how she had ordered Fynn to serve the table. It was a decent enough move, considering Fynn was the worst at lying and keeping secrets of the three of them. Vincent was his usual self, perhaps a bit more withdrawn than usual and Tifa was excitedly chatting with him about the Fleet Militia's training regime, her wings erect and slightly quivering, betraying every last ounce of her excitement concerning the topic. If she kept up the way she was currently doing, he'd personally take her under his wing for training. She was old enough, but she hadn't yet entered her adult frame. It would come about soon enough, though. He was patient enough to wait until then to pick her as his protege.

By the end of the lunch the three youngsters seemed relaxed enough, so he guessed now was as good a time as any to pin down the blame for the trespassing.

"I won't ask how you entered or what you've been doing. You know the drill, especially you, Fynn. Public service, tomorrow from 7 am to 7pm. Don't be late."

The look on their faces was perfect and so vindictively satisfying. He tried not to smile too fiendishly when he spoke again:

"Now, now. Don't be like that. I'll tell you what- Fia used to say this whenever she got us in trouble when we were your age: Either man up and owe up to your mistakes or don't get caught." he pulled up a picture of the spot where Vincent had been lying, the imprints of his form and the two sets of metal, booted feet visible perfectly clear even in the dimness of the artificial night. "Stuff like this going on your record would easily kill anyone's budding career, Tifa. Just spare myself, and consequently yourselves, the headache. I've reserved three hours, twice a week at the training field for your perusal. I expect you to be there two hours earlier, Lil' T, and for Vincent and Fynn to have completed their chores by the time the two of us are done."

Silence reigned for several seconds in which all three youngsters were mulling over whether to groan or cheer. In the end Harry got hugs from the bashful teens and he left them to their own devices feeling pretty good about himself. It was a day's work well done. Mediating such situations was more often than not the worst he had to deal with in the fleet. Crime and rule-breaking were a rare occurrence aboard the fleet. Curfew was strictly obeyed and enforcers dutifully attended their patrols. Work at the Fleet Militia was mostly voluntary and most of those that had signed up for the Militia had been involved with the military at some point of their life, especially anyone over thirty years old. Few could brag avoiding the brass during the days of the Blitz. The survivors of the Blitz carried a bond of understanding between them and that bond helped unify his forces into something cohesive enough to avoid having the brass actually having to take over civilian security.

People greeted him on the streets as he absent-mindedly made his way towards the local Militia Precinct. There was a brig and even a few isolation cells, just in case. For the most time any form of crime aboard the Fleet was handled by community service. There was simply no room for free loaders. And zero amount of tolerance.

Harrison was a tall and somewhat lean built mecha, compared to his other cousins, Albert, Wolfgang and Brian. True, Brian was the tallest, but he was also built like an impervious war god with broad shoulders, thick armor and a giant two-handed sword, especially commissioned for him. The three brothers were of dark bronze color scheme with the familiar golden crowned helm with bladed audial fins. Their eyes were a bright sunny yellow, indicating brown during their organic life and the dermal plating of their protoforms was pale slate gray.

Unlike them, Harry himself was nearly uniformly pure matte black, with snow white dermal plating and blood red glowing eyes. The only similarity he had with the rest of his family was the similar helm and audial fins shape and somewhat his armor plating and the shape of his wings. His mother had been Asian, and as such he had taken after mostly her in looks even if his build was that of his father's. He looked dark and imposing with the general spikiness of his over all frame and more often than not he had heard being compared to Batman in one way or the other. Which was kind of cool, if he wasn't a middle aged man who was taking his job seriously. That and his favorite DC superhero was the Flash. It was fine, though. He was the "hero" they needed, even if they, the civilians, thought he was the hero they deserved. Chief of Civilian Defense, Designation Blacklash, retired Second Lieutenant Harrison Johnson, also nicknamed the Dark Knight.

Life was good aboard the Fleet.

 _[April 30th, year 2032, aboard the Valkyrie Transcended, Command Center, 11:53 pm]_

"Ginny! I have the utmost wonderful news for you!" Dawnbreaker exclaimed jovially, as she saw her best frenemy sitting on her Captain's Chair and looking over data tabs.

Hardly even phased, Gravity didn't look up from her work as she answered:

"I'm fired?" she deadpanned, though her voice held a tint of mock-hopefulness.

"Ha! You wish, sucker. No, I'm back to being your boss again." the larger female mecha turned to look at the other people working around her. " That's right folks! It's back to being MY minions! So, Gravity, my lovely, be a kind dear and do like a tree and leave. That means to move your fat gravitationally challenged metal ass from MY chair. And take the data tabs too, I have work to do and an announcement to make."

The sweetest tone with the most shit eating grin Dawnbreaker could muster. Naturally, Gravity was less than impressed by her childish behavior. Some of the crew members did chuckle or giggle, however. That was good old Dawnbreaker all right – a miserable black hole of despair at one moment and then a shining star of high morale the next. The dark chocolate colored grounder wondered for how long would this good mood last and when she'd had to play buffer for her aggressive outbursts again. Unstable at her best, broken at her worst, just too plain stubborn to take a hint and die and brilliant like nobody's business. She could respect that. It was a grudging respect for one of the most damnably annoying beings in the universe, but it was respect none the less.

"Poke fun at others outside your work hours, Commander."

"You're just sore that your reign has hit a dead end. But hey! I have even better news folks! Like the benevolent and awesome leader that I am, I will give you the news before anyone else has them!"

Now this caught Gravity's attention. As much as Dawnbreaker was about the theatrics whenever the fancy hit her, she was also never one for empty words. Everything she said, Gravity had learned early on, was part of some sort of goal she had in mind. Most of the time she enjoyed winding up her opponents.

"One of our scout teams is coming back earlier than scheduled and you all know what that means! Prepare the Valkyrie for flight! We've got a bearer of good news to catch!"

Command exploded in cheers.

 _[May 1st, year 2032, aboard the Great Expectations, 1:01 am]_

"John. John, wake up, love."

Duskfire sleepily cracked one glowing eye open to see the face of Helen not far from his own, illuminated only by her own glowing blue eyes in the darkness of his bedroom.

"What time is it? What's going on?"

" The Valkyrie's on the move, the ships' command have been instructed to continue on at the already set pace of 7.5 FTL. The Arcee is hot in pursuit of the Valkyrie, apparently on Dawnbreaker's orders. I got word from my sister that one of the scout teams is coming back early."

If the previous few statements had Duskfire's still sleepy mind baffled, the last one got him fully awake.

"What?"

"Exactly, John. Fiona's commandeered her own ship without any of us being none the wiser. And there really is a scout team coming back early. They've found something."

Duskfire lied back down again with his hands on his face. He groaned quietly in exasperation, though the sound came out more like a low growl.

"I expected a physical confrontation, not to have my hands bound by her Machiavellian schemes in the middle of the night."

Helen lied down next to him and cuddled up.

"It's no Machiavellian scheme, love. She just walked into Command and declared... How did she put it? Ah yes, that she is boss again."

" And no one thought to contradict her?"

"She's the Princess that Broke the Dawn. Why would anyone contradict her?"

"You know what, Helen? I will deal with this in the morning. Now let's go back to sleep before something else decides to happen."

"You aren't worried that this might be the artifact acting up?"

"If it had been the artifact, I would've been woken up by Anatoli dragging me out of my quarters by the ankle and swearing in Russian all the way to Command. Instead I was woken up by a vision of you."

"Hmm. Perhaps." Helen gave him a catty smile, despite her own worn out state and kissed Duskfire's cheek. " Let's go to sleep, love."

She lay her head in the crook of his neck and closed her eyes, a comfortable darkness once again covering the two lovers.

 _[May 1st, year 2032, aboard the Prospero, Residential Area 3, Blacklash' home, 1:27 am]_

 **:: Come on boys, once again, from the top! ::**

For the love of all that is holy, what was this racket? Over the Emergency comm line none the less!

 **:: O say was you ever in Rio Grande? ::**

 **:: _A-weigh, you Rio!_ ::**

 **:: It's there that the river brings down golden sand! ::**

 **:: _For we're bound for the Rio Grand! ::_**

 **:: _And away, boys, away!_**

 _ **A-weigh, you Rio!**_

 _ **It's fare-you-well my bonny young girls**_

 _ **And we are bound for the Rio Grande! ::**_

Sweet merciful Lord, there was a choir too!

 **:: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS RACKET, MEN!? THIS IS THE EMERGENCY LINE OF THE MILITIA, NOT YOUR PRIVATE RADIO PARTY! ::**

 **:: Look outside Chief! We're bringing in the party! ::**

Harry jumped out of bed faster than he had dodged bullets and opened his window. True enough, there they were. His very own men and women, mecha and organic alike, dressed in what appeared to be half-assed, quick-job pirate costumes, for whatever reason.

 **:: She's a deep water ship and a deep water crew! ::**

 **:: _A-weigh, you Rio! ::_**

 **::You can keep the coast but we're damned if we do! ::**

 **:: _And we're bound for the Rio Grande!::_**

" Can anyone please tell me what is going on here?" Harry finally asked, his voice quiet and calm, but as dangerous as thin ice. Naturally everyone heard him.

"Let's get inside and we will tell ya, Chief!"

"Or should we say arrghh, Captain!"

The militia stifled their laughter. It wouldn't do to break order for the rest of the street and not just for their dearest Chief of the Militia.

Five minutes later had Harry, one of the most laid-back and calm people in the fleet, eye his men with red glowing eyes the size of disbelieving saucers.

" She did _what?_ "

"Exactly, Chief!"

"How many people know of this and what can we do to prevent this mutiny escalating into a bloody one?" Of course he would be the only one to worry about the obvious consequences of this.

" Everything's pretty much fine, Chief. There's not much the Brass can do than follow their own General. First Lieutenant Zhukovsky called us about twenty minutes ago with the news. They're already partying on the Arcee. "

"What did Zhukovsky say?"

"The Illegal Danish stumbled upon some sort of alien mining complex but they hightailed it out of there before they could get more data. Apparently the place is still active, we don't know much more than that. Commander Dawnbreaker's got the Valkyrie flying. If we don't get there in the next ten minutes, the cruiser won't be able to catch up."

"Catch up?"

Of course. This explains the whole pirate gig. It wasn't as if things could get any more out of control. All militiamen on duty were doing their patrols, everyone was keeping to the curfew except for this unruly lot of shabby pirates. There was little he could actually do at this point except for...

"A cruiser won't do. We'd need a shuttle if all of you are going."

The cheers made his audio receptors ring.

 _[ May 1st, year 2032, in hot pursuit of the Valkyrie, 2:17 am ]_

 **::** **Tunç** **Etmekten, Shuttle class, ID:7A535A74, requesting to dock, I have Militia passengers on board ::**

 **:: Toonge Eht-uh, Eht-Macten, you have permission to dock in Bay 3A- Are those...pirate songs? ::**

 **:: Ahhem, yes? ::**

The shuttle sounded slightly embarrassed.

 **:: Cool, we expect you at Docking Bay 3A, sir. Have a nice evening. ::**

 _[May 1st, year 2032, aboard the Valkyrie Transcended (finally!), 2:45 am]_

According to Harry, shuttles were the most universally awesome thing for many reasons. First off, Shuttles had in-built mass-shifting technology that was yet to be fully understood, let alone replicated. All mecha had mass-shifting technology to some extent, however most mass-shift modifications that happened during transformation sequences were on microscopic and even molecular levels, while shuttles, some of which big enough to carry his entire family comfortably inside, would then transform into mechas that averaged around fifteen meters tall. Well, there were actually only three such sized shuttles and only two of them were in the fleet, Tunç being one of them.

Tunç wasn't militia. In fact, Tunç was one of the ordinary civilians who had joined the Third Fleet in search of new places and adventure, like many others. The mecha was a botanist and ran a flower shop in the Market Sector. He also happened to be one of the few mecha capable of reaching the mind boggling 20 FTL. At least the thorough exam of his frame provided such information about his potential. In comparison, the Valkyrie's fastest speed was 15 FTL at full throttle while the explorer ships,which were far more easily maneuverable, capped at 10 FTL.

When Harry had called his shuttle friend he half expected him to be chewed out for calling in the middle of the night, but Tunç had graciously accepted to help them out and so here they were now, a bunch of "pirates", "Batman" and a botanist. It was surreal enough while he was here and watching all of this unfold, but things got even worse once he got to the Command center.

Apparently he hadn't been the only one to decide to come to the Valkyrie. Albert, Wolfgang and Brian were chatting with MJ at one side while at the other Virginia Grayson, Fia's XO and apparently newest nemesis, was glaring daggers at everyone. He understood her predicament at least, If he had been in her position, he'd been glaring daggers at everyone too. She nodded in his direction and he shrugged apologetically.

"Hey, Harry!" Fia greeted him jovially. Her eyes were glittering azure, as vibrant and excited as her thick BEM field currently was. " Harry, you gotta come over here. I have to tell you something."

Considering she was in one of her moods, the black flier frame braced himself for some sort of joke or silly pun.

"Harry, hey Harry. Look at me." her voice became slightly more serious.

"Harry, look at me." her voice was becoming more commanding and grave, which somewhat confused him, but he complied.

"Okay."

"Look at me."

"Okay, Fia. I am-"

"I'm the captain now." She intoned.

"That joke was bad and you should feel bad." MJ drawled, clearly unimpressed while her other cousins chuckled.

Dawnbreaker readjusted herself on her seat and crossed her arms, pouting.

"I thought it was a good one this time." she mumbled out.

"And here I thought we were missing someone!" suddenly a very familiar, slavic accented mecha exclaimed loudly. " Батмане! When was the last time you left The Prospero, Harry? We've forgotten what your face looks like at the Arcee."

Harry gave Anatoli a quick, warm hug and nodded at his two begrudged looking companions.

"Don't mind them, Harry. They're not exactly happy to be woken up in the middle of the night," Toli grinned ferally. " Among other things."

"Well, well. Captain, Major. To what do I owe the honor? I specifically asked for First Lieutenant Zhukovsky's presence." Dawnbreaker spoke playfully but there was a hint of aggravation in her field that set every single mecha in her vicinity on edge.

The message was clear. Don't cause trouble.

"As I understand it, commander, the Illegal Danish has discovered something." the Captain spoke.

"Non-Xarynthian alien mining facility of a sort. Preliminary data point towards a small planetoid within the outer parts of the binary system that we have now confirmed to be the Alpha-Centauri. Since we believe these alien structures to be active, I have decided to investigate them myself, along with a team of hand-picked, very capable specialists." the Commander spoke evenly, her eyes never leaving the Captain's. "Alas, I cannot leave the Valkyrie to Gravity as I would benefit far more from her combat skills than I would from her management ones. Ill have it in Hannah's capable hands, however."

"Of course, Commander." said female mecha acknowledged quietly.

"Captain Fairgrim, your crew is best suited for what comes next. Once we've secured a position on the planetoid, I'll have your geologists on the case. We'll make sure to provide you with samples and initial geologic data as soon as we can. After all, I'm taking the only combat-ready geologist we have, our very own First Lieutenant Zhukovsky."

"I take it you've already planned this out, Commander? I saw a ground team getting ready on my way here." Captain Fairgrim spoke again.

"I've rushed ahead with the Arcee on purpose, Captain. If something were to go wrong for any palpable reason, the rest of the Fleet would have the benefit of several days time head start. " she let her words sink in. " As excited as we all are at the prospect of another alien race, one that is in fact our neighbor, we cannot allow ourselves to forget the results of our First Contact. At the same time we cannot let ourselves have our history cloud our judgment." Dawnbreaker uncrossed her arms, the carved words _Remember the Lost_ and _Make Right_ plain as day for all present.

"Harry, you will take Al, Wolf and Brian with you as our scouts and air support. Gravity, Toli and MJ shall be with me. Lewis, Jaeger and Fernandez have already been briefed and are waiting for us in Docking Bay 3A, along with our transporter, Skylar Frio. The only thing we need right now is the arrival of the scout team of the Illegal Danish and once we've looked over all available information, we will set out to start the mission. Now then, Captain Fairgrim, Major Esquivel, I expect you to return to the Arcee and prepare the crew. I've already sent messages to the whole fleet, pertaining the current situation and I expect my orders to be followed to the T. The rest of you, follow me to the War Room."

After a moment or two of staring after Dawnbreaker, Captain Fairgrim turned to look at the Major.

"Is this …?" the Captain didn't really have the proper words to voice his question.

"Is this what everybody has been talking about, Captain Fairgrim? I believe so."

Esquivel seemed a bit overwhelmed as well. Was this even the same bratty woman that refused to face reality like a proper person on a good day? Between the volcanic mood swings and the maddening, oppressive antagonism of her very presence, there was truly very little positive for people such as them to say about her. She had remained unproven.

Until now.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N One of the major problems I had with this story is keeping up with names and titles. Funnily enough the name of the Turkish shuttle guy was the hardest to write down, because of that special C with the tail. Furthermore I had The Arcee completely confused with the Umbra Venator for almost the entire chapter 5 and I had been rereading my last few chapters, just in case I've missed something. Thankfully I fixed that in the nick of time, right before uploading the chapter.**

 **And yes, Giddy, Harrison, aka the Dark Knight, really is that irresistible. It took me a while to come up with an appropriate Cybertronian-ish designation for him, because he is one of those characters whose backgrounds get a shift for the worst. He killed a person in cold blooded rage and no matter the circumstances, that murder would lie heavy on his heart/spark for the rest of his life. One could say that the experience hardened him and he has become even more hell bent on protecting his precious people. Also, because of what he did, he resigned from the military, even though he still technically participates in certain military operations – he is that valuable as a close-range combatant.**

 **I can't wait to get to a part where the other cousins get to meet Megatron, for example Brian. Cue evil laughter. Not that its happening any time soon, mind you. Oh, and Fia's alt mode is based on the Milano from the guardians of the galaxy, Starlord's ship. You can check what Dawnbreaker looks up close in my deviant art account. My ID is fiarrella. MJ's mecha design is heavily based on Matoko Kusanagi from Ghost in the Shell.**

 **Anyways, this chapter focuses on the frozen planetoid Energon mining facility and shit will go down in many, many awesome ways and stuff will go wrong in even more awesome ways and I will stop babbling now and start the friggen chapter before something else distracts me :D**

 _[May 1st, year 2032, aboard the Valkyrie Transcended, 4:13 am]_

The whole pirate theme was starting to infect the crew. Then again the entire ship was electrified with excitement upon their discovery and Harry's shabby pirate off-duty militiamen, still unable to sleep like everybody else, were presenting their full repertoire of pirate songs to the "locals". One of the canteen areas had been commandeered (that seemed to be the word of the day, anyways) and while nobody was actually drunk, there was rum and "grub" passed around in an impromptu pirate themed party. Then some of the Valkyrie crew thought they aren't impressed with the pirate invasion and showed up with shabby quick-job viking costumes. Someone brought a violin, another a guitar, there were a few more instruments passed around and by the time the artificial sun was up, the party was going in full swing.

 _[May 1st, year 2032, aboard the Valkyrie Transcended, War Room, 7:20 am]_

"The pictures clearly indicate recent heavy snowfall and we have no way of knowing if Frio won't get stuck there once having landed. The entire area is a hazard zone." Al spoke.

"But clearly there is something precious enough to have made a mining facility in this particular area. Frio, what do you think?" Dawnbreaker turned towards the shuttle, whose hulking form overshadowed them and the entire war table. He was twice as tall as her.

"I...yes. Ma'am, I take it landing right next to one of the mine entrances would be the safest course of action. It seems as if platforms have been carved out just for that purpose, which are visible even with the snow covering everything. I think I can do the landing there, I suppose." Skylar seemed somewhat distracted, but Dawnbreaker decided not to mention it. Perhaps the excitement was getting to him? Even so, Sky was the best shuttle flier they had, which was why he was specifically commissioned aboard her Valkyrie. Sky wasn't just the best- he was a _natural_ at flying _._

"Very well then, I trust your judgment, Sky. There is just one more thing left to discuss. A snow storm is brewing to the north-east of the site and rapidly descending upon the facility. We don't know if whoever's out there would be friendly or hostile."

MJ sighed as she knew exactly where Fia was going with this.

"We can either wait out the storm and safely approach, but be exposed to anyone watching the skies. Or...we can ride the storm and land at the appointed location without anyone being any wiser."

Silence.

Then a few seconds later the room exploded into murmurs and contradicting opinions.

 _[May 1st, year 2032, aboard The Great Expectations, 9:30 am]_

"Son of a conniving bitch." John Sr. swore, though his tone was along the lines of very impressed rather than angry.

Earlier that morning his granddaughter had released a statement across the fleet. After the initial uproar, people had quickly taken up their positions and the civilians had followed the protocols to the T, as they had been drilled many, many times since the start of the mission. She had left him in charge until her return. That he'd be in charge if something happened to her was left unsaid. She had also taken every single one of his grandsons, bar Fynn, on this crazy recon mission that she had cooked up.

There was literally nothing he could do, except for following his orders and do his job to the best of his ability. Helen was still livid and pacing in his bedroom and he wasn't inclined in returning there any time soon, especially because of how much work he had right now. He had to set up a defensive perimeter and settle the patrol schedules of the light and heavy cruisers, civilians had to be reassured everything would be fine and that the fleet was merely following the appropriate protocols, which, by the way, THEY WEREN'T. The only reason this whole operation wasn't a disaster was because by the time everything would be organized and ready, he'd supposedly have news from the Valkyrie. Hopefully said news would be good and he wouldn't have to prepare a funeral speech for another member of his family.

 _[May 1st, year 2032, approaching the frozen planetoid, above the storm, 9:30 am]_

"May I state once more that this is batshit crazy?" Harry said, as Sky opened the hatch of his cargo bay.

It was still night time in this area of the planetoid and the dark gray snow storm clouds rolled ominously just a hundred or so meters beneath them. Icy cold winds immediately assaulted them and a midst a clatter and jingle of metal hitting metal, all mecha aboard shuddered and clasped their armor plates as close to their bodies as they could.

"If the weather is like this up here...My God, you are supposed to fly through this down there!?" Lewis gasped as she took a good look at the bubbling icy hell bellow them.

"I suggest you get back to your seat, Lewis, we wouldn't want you slipping and falling into the storm, now would we? Besides, the meteorologists confirmed that it's not as bad as it looks. It is well within our capabilities to fly in these conditions, even though we'd be pretty much blind the moment we dive in. Now, Lewis, Jaeger and Fernandez will stay in Sky's alt until the storm quiets down. We will use the snow as cover for as long as we can."

Dawnbreaker prepared herself to jump off the hatch. Her alt was too big to allow transformation inside the cargo bay, given her wingspan and her cousins had pretty much the same problem. She looked down the opened hatch and cringed.

"Getting cold feet already?" MJ asked, seeing her hesitate.

"Just give me a moment, will ya? Brr... this is definitely not skirt weather."

As her companions groaned at the latest bad joke that came out of their commander's mouth, the plates of her skirt started separating from their arranged formation and then the main "belt" construct slid off her hips and adjusted itself until the smaller wing plates became recognizable as such and in less than ten seconds her wings had fully transformed into their aerial mode. There was a steadily increasing hum followed by the tell tale blue glow of her engines showing that she was nearly ready.

"Okay, okay. I am ready. Okay... let's do this shit. Hah!" she jumped off with a battle cry, her boot thrusters activating and for a moment or two the torrent of hot air overwhelmed the icy cold winds billowing into the open cargo bay.

The moment she became fully separated from Sky's shuttle form, her wing plates spread out and she flew up, disappearing for a moment or two from the view of her companions. When she reappeared, she had already transformed into her alt mode, a deep space cruiser of Non-Xarynthian origins, all shiny white and gold with the occasional black panels here and there.

 **:: Okay folks, time for part two of this maneuver. Sky, I am starting alignment of my cargo bay hatch with yours, please try to hold still. ::**

 **::Affirmative, Commander. ::**

The heavy cruiser alt pulled away slightly and then near effortlessly turned its rear towards Sky's open hatch and backed up. There was nary five or so meters distance between the two crafts and both maintained their positions with very minute variations despite the howling winds around them. With maneuvers like these it was easy to see just how organic the mecha's movements were. Had a human operated a similar aerial unit, the movements would've been less adjusted, more jerky due to the lack of depth of feel for the outside world.

 **:: I am in position, Sky. Jungler, get on board. And no sex jokes please. Those got old the first time around. ::**

 **:: Like you're one to talk about whose jokes go and whose doesn't, Donnie. ::** MJ retorted as she transformed into her Ford Mustang alt and revved her engine.

It wasn't a very well practiced maneuver, especially because open space was not exactly suitable for the majority of Mecha, but the one and only Jungler knew exactly where her limits lay and she exploited the shit out of every single horse power in her grounder frame. With one final rev of her engine she let her speed loose, tires screeching. For a moment that seemed like eternity, she was airborne and neither inside the shuttle or aboard Dawnbreaker's own cargo bay. In that moment she transformed and landed flawlessly inside the cruiser alt.

 **:: Now imagine sweet ol' Ginny pulling that move. Hehehehe. ::** Dawnbreaker chuckled over their short range comm line.

Jungler made herself comfortable next to her weapons cache aboard Fia's cruiser alt and started diligently assembling her state of the art custom sniper rifle. As the hatch began closing she sent a two finger salute to the others in Sky's shuttle before completely disappearing from view.

It was true that Fia's cargo bay was big enough to fit MJ or smaller mecha inside, but the fit was rather tight. There wasn't enough room for MJ to stand up, so the interior had been modified with a few straps here and there for her to secure herself during flight. She started attaching the additional packs with provisions and ammunition to her frame – something that she wouldn't have been able to do before executing this maneuver, as said items would've either been shredded by her transformation sequence or would've clogged the various joins of her frame. All in all, unpleasant plausible scenarios all around.

Unlike her type, a grounder, fliers in general possessed far better integrated internal holding caches. Which was why her sniper rifle and other supplies had been stored in the various in-built storage slots in the cargo bay where they'd easily survive the transformation. Virginia's supplies were also here. After one final check up through her HUD on her visor, making sure everything was in place and properly secured, she folded her door wings as low as she could and put on her white cloak and shawl. They'd be her only available camouflage in this snowy, white environment.

 **:: Jungler reporting ready and secured. Proceed with the next step. ::**

 **::We hear you loud and clear, Jungler. Stormcloak, you're up next. Try not to scratch me too much, will ya, cus? ::**

Stormcloak, also known as Brian, stood up and headed for the open hatch. He was the largest flier and while Fia's thrusters could handle his weight while in flight, that did not mean she was looking forward to it. It was best for him to go first, to get the worst part of this out of the way. She'd still need a repaint after this though. Dawnbreaker shifted so that her wings were parallel to Sky's hatch. That way her cousins would have enough room to not over-jump.

 **:: I'm in position, Sky. Come on, Stormcloak, move it, daylight's burning. ::**

When Brian landed harshly on Dawnbreaker's superior surface, MJ had to brace herself as she felt the sudden altitude drop. For a moment she thought her spark had stopped pulsing. It was nerve-wrecking.

 **:: Is everything alright, Donnie? ::**

 **:: Ugh, yeah, MJ. Just... Brian, get your fat ass offa me, I've got three more less fat asses to - ::**

The cruiser lurched sharply upwards and Jungler's spark pretty much went in her throat. Gone were the glory days of sea-sickness, flight-sickness and plain ole movement-sickness. Now there was just this nerve-wrecking phobia of anything moving without her explicit control -

 **::Stormcloak's in the air and in position. ::** Fia informed her.

"Fucking hate my life right about now. Argh!" MJ braced herself, hackles raised, her usually calm and cool self an image between absolutely livid and completely terrified.

After what seemed forever, all four other fliers were in the air.

"Phew, glad this is over. My paint job is completely ruined, by the way." A blonde figure said as she approached MJ.

The woman was no older than twenty and wearing simple black khaki pants, a pair of standard issue military boots and a gray sleeveless shirt.

"Any particular reason you are wasting energy on the holoform?"

"You are going loco on my interior."

 _[May 1st, year 2032, above the snowstorm, 9:50 am]_

The plan was pretty good actually. So far they had pulled off the crazy ramp jet transformation maneuver that, had this been a world with a thicker atmosphere, wouldn't have been necessary. Unlike Fiona, her cousins could not fly in root mode, thus they literally used her heavily armored alt mode as a makeshift ramp / slide with which they could transform and fly off without entering the storm before their thrusters had the needed power to push against the winds in there.

MJ was pretty sure that since things were going so smooth, something was bound to go wrong sooner or later. Naturally, her prediction came true when the fliers took up formation and entered the snowstorm. The turbulence was terrible, but they were holding off pretty well as predicted. Their only form of navigation was a 3D reconstruction of the area in which they had to maintain a certain route in order to arrive safely at their destination. And what did that mean in simple English? They were flying blind. Completely stealthed, but perfectly blind.

This batshit crazy idea was working perfectly too, their safe plan being Gravity attaching magnetic "hooks" with which she'd keep their entire convoy stable and together. Should one of them fail in one way, the others could drag him or her along.

Everything was perfectly fine until Sky glitched out some five minutes into their steady descent. Only Lewis' and Fernandez' quick thinking and applying the medical overrides saved them from dropping like rocks. Luckily, despite the really harsh and sudden tug from the magnetic hooks, they remained airborne.

 **:: Frio what the hell? Lewis, what the hell happened with Sky? ::**

 **:: We don't know, Commander, he suddenly glitched out! He's... he's not unconscious, Commander, but he isn't responding. ::**

 **:: Jesus fucking Christ. Okay, we've got him and we've got you. How are you holding up in there, Hunny Bunny Ginny Whinny? ::**

 **::Screw you, Commander! ::** Answered the big grounder with strain.

 **:: We're almost at location, folks. Keep it together until we land and we'll have Jungler look him up as soon as possible. Just... just hang in there, OK? ::**

 **:: God dammit, woman, did you have to do this right now? ::** Anatoli roared over the comm line.

 **:: I swear it was totally unintentional! ::**

 _[May 1st, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, 10:24 am]_

"She's been completely quiet for the last four minutes."

"That's because she is working out what's wrong with Skylar, Jaeger."

"I hope he'll be fine." Fernandez mumbled as he worked on unloading equipment from Sky's cargo bay and into the mine which Dawnbreaker had promptly smashed open and then proceeded to scout with Gravity.

Right now Sky's predicament meant two things. First, they were down both their transport and their medic for an indefinite amount of time. They had no idea when the storm would end which also meant they had no way to contact the Valkyrie until then. On the other hand the Valkyrie was instructed to send another team in case they didn't receive any sort of contact for a week. Things were bad from the get go, but they weren't desperate or hopeless. Between the five fliers the three organic humans had over a month worth of food supplies and the mecha themselves were packed to the brim with high quality energy packs that would last them even longer.

And second, they were down their Jungler, because MJ doubled as both a medic and a long range support and stealth unit.

Anatoli was doing heavy lifting while the four remaining fliers were building some sort of makeshift igloo/tent of compacted snow, ice and tarp in order to make MJ's work easier. Lewis, Fernandez and Jaeger were huddled close together under their thermal blankets. Lo and behold, there wasn't a single flammable object around and they weren't really inclined to use their supplies just yet. Also, everything around them was more or less Mecha sized.

"I bet we can set up in that panel over there. It's busted anyways and it'll provide better insulation that just setting up our stuff here in this corner." Lewis finally spoke.

"You're probably right, Lewis. Let's go Jaeger." Fernandez said as he stood up and switched on the flashlight on his helmet. " Oi, Jaeger, come on!"

"Give me a second."

Jaeger was looking around, obviously some sort of idea cooking in his noggin'.

"What is it Jaeger?"

"So, work with me here, Fernandez, Lewis. What do we know about mining facilities?"

 _[May 1st, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, 11:02 am]_

"What is this place?" Fia finally asked.

There were dark tunnels, carved into the very rock and as tall as twice Sky's height. The galleries ventured deep into the rock.

"This place is kind of creepy, not very stable and with very little support." Dawnbreaker said quietly. Her wings were back in their compact mode/ skirt mode. " And check this out." she pointed at the walls.

"They're damp?"

"Touch 'em, Ginny."

"Tch. Smooth as glass."

"And what does that tell you? That's right, Hunny Bunny, fire, lots of heat, enough heat to melt the surface here into glass. Something blew up here big time."

"Figures you'd know something about that, you crazy pyro."

"Only for Xarynthians, sweet-cheeks."

"What do you think this place was? It looks too official on the outside and here it's like, hell. It's like people were forgotten here." Gravity spoke quietly and calmly, though there were hints of chills in her voice. "Look at those scratch marks, commander."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Ginny. This is a death hole. It's like someone was trying to claw their way out."

"So much for good first impressions."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Ahead of them was a section of the mine that had collapsed. At a first glance they could see a hand of what appeared to be a large mecha partially sticking out of the stone pile. There was a dried puddle of what appeared to be very similar to their lifeblood, Calorium, on the ground and on the rock rubble as well. Virginia and Fiona looked at each other.

"Mecha sized facilities, mecha sized aliens." Fia stated and slowly moved over to inspect the hand. "Ginny, I need to inspect the body because this is getting kind of creepy. Could you please help me move these rocks?"

"Of course, Commander." It took them a while, but both of them were build with sturdy powerful frames.

Slowly, but surely the rocks revealed the crushed, grayed out frame of an unidentified type of mecha. It was larger than them, with a powerful built, perhaps designed for the heavy work that was mining. The armor, where it wasn't crushed or broken into smithereens and revealing the delicate yet ravaged protoform cabling underneath, showed that it was designed to withstand heat blasts and a lot of pressure. There was no weapon in sight, however, or any sort of tool of the trade.

"I don't like this, commander. This doesn't look like a mining accident or a regular cave-in."

Dawnbreaker hummed in agreement, her mind focused on trying to reconstruct the fatal event that got this poor sod snuffed.

"I thought I was done seeing stuff like this, especially after New York."

"Everyday I'm thankful for not being awake for it. One less hell to remember. But I see what you mean, Ginny. See those marks up there? This was a set up of some sort. Whoever made this trap had set an explosive up there. Either they didn't do their job as well as they should've, or they wanted this guy to suffer. He didn't die from being crushed."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Fuck's just about right. You see these dried up Calorium leaks? Bastard fought hard to escape but all he ever achieved was aggravating his wounds to the point where he leaked more and more and then was too weak to dig himself out completely. And he was so close, too."

The Commander knelt down next to the head of the unknown mecha and carefully closed the metal lids of his eyes.

"May your soul rest in peace, brother." she spoke quietly and softly, mourning the loss of this person that she had never seen before in her life. Fia carefully took his broken arms and set them on his chest.

"Didn't take you for the religious type." Gravity commented.

"I'm not. Not really. But someone has to mourn him you know? In this creepy forgotten place a life was taken and it hadn't been taken easily. This fellow fought till his very last breath, so to speak, and that deserves respect. The dead deserve respect. We still have a few more ways to go before heading back, so I want to set him up like this for now. I know MJ will want to look at the guy to see just how similar we are and take some samples and stuff, but I'd want to give him a proper burial after this, you know? It's just that... it ain't right. None of this is right. And I..."

"You want to make right, commander. I know." Virginia finished for her, quietly and respectfully. "I'll just cover him with the tarp and when we get back we'll take him up with us. How's that sound?"

"Yeah. That's... That's a good plan. Let's... let's just fucking go. This place creeps the shit out of me and I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."

"Preach to the choir, boss. This place is like a setting for a bad horror movie plot."

" Damn straight."

 _[May 1st, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, 1:46 pm]_

"So all we gotta do now is connect this ...big ass... fuck... cable...dammit! Get in, you...fucking. Yes! Finally!" Lewis cheered as she finally managed to connect the control panels to their portable power supply, aka a diesel engine. The Assembly lit up, slightly reluctantly at first, but as the engine heated up and got into working full swing, the entire hangar was lit up from the inside.

"You know the creepiest part? I half expected to see cobwebs and stuff. I haven't seen a single spec of organic-ness, yes Jaeger, that's a word, and I half expected to see at least some alien cockroaches or something."

"Alien cockroaches at minus 36 Celsius? Get real, Fernandez! Also, get useful too, and hand me the translator device! Thanks!"

"Are you sure this would work, Lewis?"

"It's worth a try, like the Commander said at the briefing." Lewis shrugged. "Besides, if it doesnt, we pull this baby apart and then I hack the shit out of this terminal and all of its pieces until I get it to work the way I want it to."

Lewis smiled sweetly at Fernandez.

"You scare me sometimes, you know that, right?"

"Pish-posh."

On the other side of the hangar MJ had finally gotten Skylar Frio somewhat back to normal and now Anatoli was helping him to lie down inside the hangar, as she kept a careful watch of his systems. Despite her calm features, MJ was actually quite worried. Few knew this but Skylar had been among her first mecha patients, along with Fiona. She knew Skylar, perhaps better than he knew himself. In fact, Skylar's first cognizant memory had been of her, looking over him and lighting his glowing blue eyes with a flashlight to check his reaction.

When he had first woken up after the many surgeries to restore his nearly completely destroyed head, the only thing that he had known about himself was that his name was Sky and nothing else. There were completely normal human things that he had no grasp of, such as what a dog was or the taste of chocolate, but MJ had considered it a result of the extensive damage he had sustained. After all, years later, when newborn baby Mechanoids started popping up, none of them seemed to have the same problems the rest of the mechanized population had.

Still, with her help and with Fiona as his rehab buddy, the two of them somehow managed to integrate him into proper society. He was a curious, gentle soul. Inquisitive but very polite. He was smart and yet despite the unending fountain of questions he had about everything, he also possessed patience like none other. He made a perfect playmate for Fia, whenever she was feeling like exercising her tactical muscle, namely by playing chess and other such games.

When Sky had come to after what Lewis dubbed as a glitch, the first thing she had noticed was the absolute terror in his eyes and the panic. His field was saturated with these emotions and she immediately knew what had happened. The snowstorm had triggered something that none of her colleagues had managed to do – he had remembered something and that something had been terrible. A panic attack triggered by a resurfacing post-traumatic stress disorder. Immediately she had Anatoli drag him to the hangar where he had been given a nice big hot cup of rum.

Finally, after what seemed to be hours, Sky had calmed down. The rum also seemed to help so she got a cup of it for herself before Anatoli could chug it all down before long.

"I-I am really sorry, doctor. I-I-I really don't know what came over me...it's just that... the snow and the howling winds. I-I...I was lost and I couldn't find him and-and..." Sky spoke frantically, his voice on the verge of crying and it nearly broke MJ seeing the big guy like this.

"Don't worry about it Sky, we are here for you and we will get through this together, ok?"

"But-But he is lost, Michelle! I need to find him, what if he died in the snow? I-I just... He was my friend and-and-"

"Sky look at me." MJ spoke calmly and lifted his head. His eyes were wide and they were leaking diluted Calorium from the strain of his emotions. He was crying. "I know you feel horrible right now, but this is good. This means that you remember something from before the Event. Once all of this is over we will find this friend of yours, ok? I will do everything in my power to help you Sky, because you are a good person and you of all people deserve at least some sort of closure."

MJ hugged him awkwardly, due to their size differences, and he began to calm down. She gave him a cloth to wipe away the tear stains from his face and then turned over to help setting up their forward camp and give him some space to collect himself.

The organic humans were raising some sort of commotion, so she turned her attention to them.

"Told you I could crack this bloody bitch open, you disbelieving twats!" Lewis bragged with her heavy Cockney accent, while her two "helpers" laughed and cheered. " And lookie here! Another set of glyphs. Not quite Xarynthian -well, scratch that. This ain't Xarynthian at all boys.

Apparently the commotion had garnered Sky's attention as well.

"Guys I... I think I recognize those glyphs."

 _[May 1st, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, 3:17pm]_

"Just a few more dozen o'stairs and we are...ungh, there, Ginny."

"We could've at least left the corpse and...fuck...this is heavy!"

"And go down there...ungh...twice, you moron?"

"Fuck...you're...ugh...right, Commander. Fuck it!"

"Damn straight...ungh...I am!"

Eventually Anatoli spotted them approaching and took the load off of them and sprinted up with it like it was nothing more than a bit of hay, leaving the two begrudged female mecha glaring enviously at him and his sheer raw strength.

"Damn Russians and their OP-ness." Fia finally mulled out as she dragged herself along with Gravity into the hangar and shut the door behind them. " At least Sky seems well again."

MJ approached her. Her visor was down so it was kind of impossible to discern if something was going right or wrong, at the moment, which was kind of bad, seeing as the medic was literally rushing her.

"You wouldn't believe what I've got to tell you." the two said at the exactly same time.

In the background, in the mean time, Gravity simply plopped half-dead on the ground next to Anatoli, who handed her his cup of hot rum after a bit of consideration. She downed it in one go and handed it back.

"Ok, you go first." Fia and MJ said together again.

Jungler raised her visor and glared pointedly, while Fia smiled fiendishly. Being away from that mining hell hole did wonders for one's mood.

"You're the commander, you go first."

"Ginny and I found a corpse for you to examine."

"Oh goodie." MJ exclaimed sarcastically.

"It looks exactly like us and it was killed in some sort of skirmish. We found this attached to his chest plates. It's kinda broken, but you can still tell it was some sort of symbol. Kinda looks like a bird's head, come to think of it. Probably a purple gryphon or something."

"You think the Xarynthians have been through this system?"

"That's what I want you to tell me. You'll know if any of this poor fellow's wounds are made from Xarynthian tech. Also, I want samples for an MNA-scan and whatever else you think would help determine how closely we are related to these guys."

MJ nodded and just before she turned to head for her equipment, she added:

"Sky recognizes the glyphs. He's currently helping Lewis make a program to translate that whole thing into English."

Dawnbreaker's eyebrow plates shot up like rockets and her eyes widened at that information. Her gaze shifted several times between MJ and Sky in rapid succession, until finally setting on MJ.

"Official report will state he used his technical expertise helping Lewis to decode the glyphs. Word of this goes out to no one, understood?"

"I think that's what I was going to push for. Anatoli's already with us on this."

"Do you know what they'd do to him if they find out about this? I mean, look at him, MJ! Fernandez and Jaeger are chilling on his fucking shoulders like daisies in a pot and he's a fifteen fucking meters tall metal giant." Fia bit her lower lip.

"Your boys I'm not worried about." MJ said, talking about Fia's cousins." It's Gravity that worries me."

"I knew that bitch would be trouble, even on her first day on the job."

"It's a good thing you had her with you then, when Sky made this revelation. By the way, he finally remembers something. That episode of his in the air... he says he lost his friend in a snow storm such as this one. He is really distraught about it, but I don't think it would be appropriate or even safe to ask him about it right now, given the circumstances."

"All we need to do is keep the Gee-babe away from him, which shouldn't be hard. Once the storm dies down I'll take her with me to scour the area. There are a few other mining outposts in the area that had shown some sort of activity, I'd like to check them out. Perhaps we'd find a live one this time."

Fia looked right miffed. She sighed and then she cracked her neck. With her scuffed paint job and the dirt clinging to her, she looked completely exhausted. The only thing holding her posture as straight as it was was her own damned stubbornness. She needed rest. MJ sighed and shook her head.

"I'll take a look at the corpse and the samples you brought me. You need something to eat and then get some sleep. By the way, your cousins made a snow fort outside, so if you are wondering where they've gone to, you will find them in there doing... whatever is there that they're doing."

A smirk spread on Fia's face a few seconds later.

"Cool."

 _[May 1st, year 2032, aboard the Valkyrie Transcended, Command Center, 7:21 pm]_

"Ma'am, we've received a message from Commander Dawnbreaker."

Hannah nodded and followed the subordinate towards the large message terminal.

"We've set up our forward camp in the designated area. Frio had a systems malfunction due to the snow storm. We've landed successfully at the location. Discovered a recently deceased corpse of an alien mecha-" there were quiet gasps among those present. Hannah, as always, did not react. " Jungler has determined over 99.92 percent overlapping of MNA sequences, as provided by all mecha present. We will continue our mission once the weather is clear. I've attached several images to this message."

In typical Fiona fashion, the first image had been the entire crew, all in good health if slightly dirty and scuffed, raising a cup of hot rum each and smiling, in what appeared to be a giant snow fort.

 **A/N: I have two things to say. PURPLE GRYPHON! And...IT WAS SKYFIRE ALL ALONG! Not that he remembers, mind you, but he will. Maybe. Eventually. I dunno. I hoped I could finally have at least Jazz in this chapter, but things just kept piling up and there was so much to do in this chapter that Jazz being there would've been totally out of line at this particular point in the story. We do see, however, a bit of his handiwork. I do promise that the trap had been a rush job and that he hadn't made that poor con (PURPLE GRYPHON WOO!) suffer on purpose. At least I think he hasn't. I mean, he is really an unpredictable and awesome ninja sapper alien troll griefer like you have no idea, so... yeah.**

 **Also, another quick random fact: Major Esquivel is actually Rafael Esquivel. Think what you will of that.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: If Major Esquivel is Raf, then what happened to Jack and Miko? I'm afraid it will be a while before that question is answered, however, in the mean time I offer something that is perhaps better. The huge roll of characters aboard the Vestige fleet are willing to answer questions to the best of their ability and to explain things from their point of view.**

 **For those wondering, Calorium is the name Humanity gave Energon. The only Energon humanity has ever seen up to this point is the one running in the Mechanoids' veins. If you do an internet search, you will find that Calorium is a fictional element present within the different colored M &M's, which is also kinda cool.**

 **I had fun looking up Optimus Prime in the Aligned Continuity. Apparently he is the reborn Thirteenth Prime whose spark is closest in likeness to Primus, so now, in my head cannon, if Megatron is General Maximus Decimus from the Gladiator, aka Russel Crow, then Optimus is the Thirteenth Warrior, aka Antonio Banderas. Do what you will with that image in mind.**

 _[May 2nd, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, Dawnbreaker's PoV 9:01 am]_

The cold, I could handle and it's not because I was designed to be space worthy. Contrary to popular belief, space isn't actually cold. In fact, all space stations and even all Xarynthian spaceships are designed to deflect and vent the heat. That being said, deep space IS cold. Anyways, my original point is that most of us rust buckets, even the smallest ones, are capable of withstanding temperatures of up to minus 70 Celsius, which is nothing to scoff at, though our energy consumption skyrockets the lower the temperatures. That did not mean we enjoyed it, no sir. Of course, being human, organic or not, we got creative when it came to finding solutions.

Said solution to the cold that permeated everything was a group sleep-over inside the snow fort, seeing as the ice walls that were recently reinforced with steel beams and covered with tarp provided both better insulation and a far better scenery than the creepy ass death hole that was this mining facility. Hot rum and energy rations also helped. The snow fort had been initially build to keep Sky's shuttle out of the elements, though seeing as he was better now, it served a far better purpose.

I went to bed early last night and I think MJ dumped her own thermal blanket on top of mine at some point last night and slipped in and cuddled up around early morning. Skylar shared a corner with Anatoli and Gravity and my cousins had taken up a third corner. Lewis, Jaeger and Fernandez set up their habsuite inside the facility, within one of the broken terminals. They're gutsier than I'll ever be in that case. I know just about fifty different horror movies and video games in which that decision would end up with us waking up to find their bloodied remains, but I digress.

Turned out they were perfectly fine in the morning. I woke up around 8 am which is super late for me, but I had a cuddle buddy and I was warm and it was cold outside, so fuck you guys, I was comfy. Also it was a friggen Sunday.

Of course, MJ had to wake me up when she wriggled her way out of my grasp for the sake of her one true religious experience – having coffee in the morning.

Fuck it, I won't be dealing with anything this early on a Sunday, no matter what anyone says. I am going back to sleep.

 _[May 2nd, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, 2:11 pm]_

"Come on, wake up."

"Dun'wanna."

"Lewis went down the mines with Anatoli and Brian. They've found paint for you."

"Mmm'paint."

"It's the afternoon and the storm is dying down. I want you painted and dry by the time the skies are clear so we can start on the other part of our mission."

"Awwww." Fia groaned as she sat up and glared sleepily at her CMO slash best friend.

MJ knew from the start this was going to be a tough few hours. While her "illustrious" leader was capable of spending hours on end sitting still and plotting and planning their next course of action, she also happened to be completely unable to withstand getting buffed or her paint job retouched for whatever reason. Fia, of course, seriously needed a paint job, if only for decency' sake. She was their leader, dammit, and she was supposed to look the part too. Sadly, there was no white and gold paint, but she did find the primaries, red, blue and yellow. There was also a small black cannister. Jungler sighed, knowing full well she had her work cut out for her.

 **A/N I apologize for cutting this one short but I really want opinions on Dawnbreaker's new paint job. I have a few ideas already, most of them shout outs or super tacky, considering she likes to be flashy, but not the maintenance it requires. I will update later tonight again, hopefully with her new paint job AND a Jazz update. Seriously. I need a Jazz update.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Chapter 7 was more of an interlude, but oh well. Before I start on chapter 8 I want to say a few things (don't I always?). I wanted this story to have an Epic RPG feel to it in certain aspects. First of all, we have character classes and I firmly support the holy gaming trinity of tank/dps/healer. As such, you will see people focusing on those roles in their different variations. We have Jungler who is a support class through and through, with her medical skills, long range sniper rifle and even with her machete. Dawnbreaker is a typical tank who taunts her enemies and does everything in her power to be the center of attention. We have bruisers like Gravity and Stormcloak (Brian) and then we have the light armored close-range combat specialists like Harry, whose primary weapons are a Katana and speed. Fynn is shaping up to be a ranger/rogue type, though he won't be seeing a lot if any combat, given his tender mental age of a 13 year old.**

 **We also have equipment that can be upgraded, customizable colors, companions whom you have to "unlock" and then you have to earn reputation with them, a whole fleet to do your bidding in a Facebook game style micromanagement events, and, last but not least, the various environments that come with their perks and debilitations. I have sort of maps of most of the locations, including the Vestige Fleet's spaceships.**

 **Each character has their own certain play style and "specialization". For example, the three brothers Albert, Wolfgang and Brian are all bruisers, which means high armor values and melee weapons with mediocre damage output. Brian wields a massive two-handed sword, Wolfgang has twin axes and Albert uses a two handed hammer that doubles as a cannon ala Jayce style. That being said, I've tried my best to have them all with their particular strengths and weaknesses, thus making them balanced when in a fight with cannon characters. I also always have in mind that transformers characters, depending on the continuity, range from a few thousand to several billion years old. Basically its a fight of tried experience versus innovation and rapid adaptability for the most part. Which is partly why I find Jazz to be the next best thing after bacon and eggs served in bed for breakfast.**

 **Random facts: Albert, Wolfgang and Brian are named after Dumbledore. Skyfire has a pet koala named Wilbur and is an avid "old generation games" player, particularly Minecraft. His favorite authors are Tolkien and Jane Austen. He prefers classical music and chillstep. The Valkyrie Transcended has small interconnected patches of safari zones throughout its hull, unlike the singular large delegated recreational areas of the other ships. Mechanoid children grow by episodic "growth spurts" during which their requirements for materials and fuel is greatly increased. The entire process lasts from twelve hours to several days during which not only the outer frame upgrades itself, but also important organs, such as the spark chamber and the brain module. The entire process is extremely frustrating and bothersome, especially for the first few transitions. The closer a person's frame comes to full maturity, the smoother the process becomes. It is noted that certain variations of the diet somewhat influences certain changes during the transition of one frame to a more mature one. Studies are still being conducted on the subject. The number of Mecha on board the fleet are around 500, with a slightly predominant male component.**

 **And now, onto chapter 8, where Dawnbreaker cosplays as a fem!BayformersPrime. Tacky flames included. The color scheme is a bit reversed – red main color and tacky blue flames.**

 _[May 2nd, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, 9:30 pm]_

"Oh come on, you have enough paint to mix up a vibrant viridian green for some epic decals!"

"If I add vibrant viridian green decals, as you call it, you'll look like an idiot. "

"I'll have to agree with Jungler, ma'am. The blue flames are quite enough as it is." Jaeger added without looking up from his current job – fixing one of the numerous broken terminals. "That, and I think Jungler'd rather keep the blue for her own decals rather than mix it with the yellow for the green."

Said Jungler glared at Jaeger before deciding to give up on this idiocy and get back to her own work. Dawnbreaker was still critically eyeing her armored ass through the reflection from one of the larger panels of a broken terminal. Her wings were in aerial mode, spread out and low in order to get the optimal view of her shapely behind. She wasn't exactly happy with her current paint job, given how Wonder Woman and Captain America references were made. The Lady Deadpool color scheme had been outright denied and Harry had explicitly forbidden her to go for a Flash color scheme. Mainly because the Flash was _his favorite_ superhero and he had already called dibs. And for anyone of the Johnson family, having dibs on anything was kind of a big deal. It meant that you'd have undisputed sovereignty over something and that all the other cousins were supposed to support and upkeep the given dib. For example, even if Harry's default color scheme was Batman, he had dibs on the Flash since very, very young.

There was also a thing called crush dibs, which pretty much overlapped near 100 percent with the bro code. Except where Fiona was involved. Then her cousins stood united in scaring the crap out of anyone who even remotely looked her way. But for the most part, Harry had dibs on the Black Widow, Al was a Peggy Allen kind of guy, Wolf had dibs on Poison Ivy and Brian was all over Mara Jade. And yes, a certain affinity for red heads ran in the family.

After nearly an hour of debating, yellow and blue were ruled out as too military, even though Fiona was a with a General Rank, marked by the four golden stars on each pauldron. In the end she had agreed to have her pauldrons predominantly blue to make the military stars pop out. Her helm and head ornaments were finally painted in black and yellow.

"Are you finally satisfied, woman? We have a mission to complete." Anatoli finally ground out.

"Just... give me a moment Anatoli."

"I already gave you five!"

Women, no matter how perfect they look, are never ready by default.

 _[May 2nd, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, Dawnbreaker PoV 9:55pm]_

The thing I hate the most about Sundays is that the next day will be a Monday. It's not that I actually have a Monday-to-Friday nine to five work schedule, but there are just some things from your childhood you can't erase, no matter how you try. Like the universal suckage of the weekday that is Tuesday. I heard it had been made a thing aboard the research vessels for some reason or other. So yeah, it's a thing to hate Tuesdays in my fleet, which is kinda cool.

Anyways. Michael (that's what I occasionally call my buddy MJ) and Sky are still at our forward camp and are studying the various pieces of crystallized Calorium that we've acquired since our arrival. Sky's native tongue is quite rusty and he says that that the dialect used in these facilities is one that he isn't too familiar with. At least we have Lewis to help him figure out the contextual meaning of the unknown glyphs and, overall, he is currently our greatest asset on the team. Jaeger's providing MJ with technical support and I think Fernandez is sleeping.

We've separated ourselves into two groups. My cousins are in one and myself, Ginny and Toli in the other. While we're all seasoned veterans, Al and his brothers hold the most respect for Harry, while if I had sent Anatoli to lead their group, it'd just be a booze party or something and things might get too out of hand. Yeah. Better keep the Russian away from my Viking Boys and have them balanced out with our resident Samurai's cool and laid back demeanor. I can't really go to their group as I don't have as much synergy with a bunch of blade-swinging barbarians as I would have, say, with Anatoli. The vodka-chugging bastard has Gatling Guns. Yes. You heard me right. Gatling **Guns**. As in plural. As in giant rain-o-death makers that use state of the art kinetic energy penetration based ammunition (that's bullets for you non-science people). Kind of like the sabot rounds used back in the day during the Blitz but the size of an average organic human's forearm.

Anatoli's babies are mounted on each arm and to top it all off he has extendable blades attached to his forearms, right underneath the Gatling Guns. He has an in-built ammo pack in his back. His alt mode is a big ass armored ATV that the organic humans can and have used during training sessions.

Anyways, Anatoli and I have great synergy, given that I keep the range between him and his opponents. My mobility and crowd control are perfect for gunning down enemies.

So, where does Gravity fit into all of this? While I act as Toli's support, Gravity can easily act as mine, in a pinch. You see, Gravity was built with what we call a divergence from the average Mecha's structures. Her Bio-electromagnetic field is capable of moving any object containing at least a feasible amount of metal. So when people wonder why Gravity can kick my ass without blinking an eye, all I do is point them towards a video feed where she crushes a small sedan into a neatly packed metal ball. So yes, when I try to kick her ass, nine out of ten times she comes out victorious. The only way to take her down is to calculate and carefully predict the downtime between her attacks, which isn't easy, because she keeps her BEM field really, really tight to her body and just sends out "tendrils" of it to manipulate objects and such.

You'd think that with my ridiculously oppressive BEM field I'd count among the ranks of the very rare divergent types, but in reality the "feel" of one's BEM field depends on your "physical" power, or rather, the amount of raw power you can dish out and your state of mind. I have a very domineering personality and in-your-face attitude to begin with and coupled with my long list of psychological trauma induced disorders, people just _know_ that there is something _fundamentally wrong_ with me. As such, BEM field control used to be my day to day activity for some two and a half years after I woke up in this body. In that time, which I very accurately dubbed rehab, the only mechanoids I'd been in constant contact had been MJ and Sky... well, mostly MJ until I was proficient enough with my field to be allowed in Sky's vicinity.

In those days there hadn't been a single tin can that wasn't in rehab of some sort. We had this rehab commune going on and it was kind of cool once you got used to it and it wasn't a concentration camp of any sort. People had full access to their families and there were no walls or anything, just miles and miles of forests and clear blue skies. There was a kindergarten and even a school for the older children, but I wasn't allowed in those areas. Instead, I was doing teamwork exercises, yoga and meditation with the other sociopaths, psychopaths and other deranged folk that suffered from various degrees of post traumatic stress disorder. It was also there that I learned to withhold my urges to punch people seemingly on random.

I am still working on my anger management issues, but according to Hannah, given the current situation we are in, innate aggressiveness is to be encouraged among the troops in case we have another Blitz on our hands. The best defense is a good offense and all that jazz. Then we have people like her sister, Helen, who was generally a pit viper hidden in a rosebush. She's as skilled as Michael in wielding a sniper rifle and at close range with a short bladed weapon. Well, maybe not as skilled, but she had still been pretty bad ass, even as an organic, back when we infiltrated my Valkyrie in order to seize control of the Xarynthian Flagship. And even so, Helen's greatest strength lay with the gentle way she could dissuade or instigate a person to do something without even realizing that this wasn't their idea in the first place.

But back to Gravity. She had the powers of magnetism on her side and while she could pull off the stunt with literally hanging Sky's fat ass off of our five alt frames by sheer force of will, she was by no means Magneto. Her abilities put a huge strain both on her energy reserves and on her processors, aka the brain module. But, like I've stated indirectly before, she's pretty proficient AND efficient with her magnetic powers.

So, how do these powers work in a support situation? Gravity's designation is pretty well chosen. She can effect to an extent the mass of objects by making them appear lighter or heavier than they really are. If I am in range, she could apply a sort of "glove" over my fists, per se, and make my punches do triple amounts of damage, which is pretty neat and not really as costly as flinging mooks (or myself) into the air and then slamming them down at 7G's worth of acceleration. Another thing she could do is projecting her field as a sort of magnetic shield against projectiles. And, thirdly, she can pull me out of danger if I am unable to do so myself for some reason. She could also push or pull enemies within her range.

And before you accuse her of being a freaking Jedi, she doesn't have any precognitive powers. That's our job. Aka us seekers. Anything within our BEM field, we can sense to some extend.

This is where we come to my very own specialized combat kit. I don't do ranged weapons. Sure, I can shoot guns with average accuracy and my object-throwing skills are better than most, but when you are wearing heavy armor and are equipped with a sword and a shield, there really isn't room for throwing projectiles of any sort in a way that can actually be successfully used in combat further than the first three or so seconds of fighting. What I've been doing the last five or so years is solely focused on detecting and recognizing whatever enters my field, high velocity or minuscule size be damned. I can turn off my visual and audial sensors and still pretty much see everything around me just through my BEM field. Currently I have an effective field of fifteen meters before I stretch it so much that I have blind spots. I can stretch my field up to fifty meters and thus detect movement from anything mechanical, especially if that thing is of mechanoid origins. Organic humans have way too thin and weak BEM fields for me to make use of them in battle, but at a five meter set range I would be able to discern the separate tiny fields into something more coherent for me to understand. Not that such an endeavor could actually be useful outside of VERY specific and peculiar situations.

Anyways, I have spent many years meticulously training and fine tuning this skill along side my proficiency with a sword and shield, where such a skill could be most useful. Parrying, dodging, deflecting- all of them made times more effective just for the sheer fact that I can counteract to some extend my opponent's movements before they are even executed. I am able to do this thanks to my extremely powerful processor that is supposedly, just like the rest of my frame, based on the Valkyrie's specs. It's mostly speculation, but it was one of the more plausible reasons why I had a superior frame.

So here we are, with me at the front and creating a path through the thick snow covers, my now red-colored wings spread out to help me keep my balance and to occasionally blow hot air in at my freezing frame. Well, freezing isn't accurate as a word in this case, but we all got relatively quickly covered in frost and it isn't pleasant when you get frost on your joins or under your armor plates. Brr. Still freaking cold. I look behind me. Gravity has this really serious, set expression of determination on her face so at least she is as bothered as I am from all of this cold, ice and snow. Anatoli, that little Russian shit, was having a bloody stroll in the park, not even rubbing two halves of a fuck together to care that it was bad weather we are dealing with.

I grumble and press on through the snow. We had fifteen kilometers to cover on foot to the target location and then we still had to place Toli's probes for some sort of geological survey. I still half expected for an alien life form to pop up in range of my fully extended BEM field but so far there was nothing.

So, while we do this boring trek to a reasonably flat plateau, I will talk about what it feels like being on a planetoid, since Hannah told me I'm supposed to be talking about stuff like this. Planetoids, first and foremost, are really, really small terrestrial worlds that are too small to be classified as a planet. Some have spheroidal shape, some are more of an ellipsoid and others are really chunky and irregular. The planetoid we are on falls in the first category and while it is mostly made of rock, and is about the size of Pluto, it should've had surface gravity of approximately little less than 0.1 G which is less than a tenth of Earth's gravitational pull. Yeah, but no. It has surface gravity of approximately 0.7 G, which lead us to believe that there was some sort of gravity manipulating device implanted somewhere in order to produce the additional 0.6 G worth of gravitational pull.

Time to rub some brain cells. This is an abandoned mining facility. There are no working vehicles anywhere from what we've seen and anything we've found has been picked clean, especially the Calorium. Sky insists that the proper term in his native tongue goes along the lines of _Energon_ which means something akin to made of Energy or made of life in his particular dialect. The Glyph system his people use is needlessly complex in my opinion and, believe it or not, even with his meager and still mostly non-existent memories, Sky totally agrees. He says that their language lacks much of the chaotic beauty and the symbolical and metaphoric inherent nature of our own Earthen languages. Eh, whatever. Our Sky-boy's had years to go native enough for him to appreciate even the tiniest details at this point, especially if it's a Shakespearean Tragedy in Ye Olde Tongue, so technically his opinion is that of an Earthling and not so much one of an alien. He's our Sky, not _theirs_ and I will make sure it stays that way.

Okay, lets keep rubbing. The place we landed was relatively close to two of the most active spots we saw on the entire planetoid. And by active we mean the thermal readings indicated hot spots correlating with possible underground rooms with _at least some form_ of central heating. And in this bitch ass cold hell, we brought ourselves the most simple and reliable thing that could be easily repaired by _anyone_ to provide us with the power to heat ourselves and also, as it turned out, to start up the terminals in the facility. That's the diesel engine we got with us. If all else fails, it can run on Anatoli's unending alcohol supply.

Where does all of this lead us to? That's right. Someone else is having our idea of keeping warm and we intend to find out who. And possibly make peaceful contact. I bet that's half the reason Anatoli brought this much alcohol with him. Then again I suspect he runs on alcohol.

 _[May 3rd, year 2032, Unnamed Mining Planetoid, 3:12 am]_

"I'm half tempted to fly our asses back instead of plowing through twenty kilometers of snow again." Dawnbreaker grumbled as she melted the snow on the ground before her so that Gravity and Toli could set up Sensor 5a for the survey.

"Would you even have the power to get us back in one go?"

"No. Not really. But in three short breaks and with Toli's vodka supply..." Fia trailed off, seeing Ginny was rolling her eyes at her.

"We have just this one left to install and then we continue on to the hot spot."

"Can't wait for some good old fashioned shut eye under my thermal blanket." a dreamy smile set on Dawnbreaker's face as Virginia glared at her.

"You slept till 2 pm today and you still want more sleep?"

"Sunday's my catch up day. I always sleep in. The only reason you haven't caught on to it is because I deliberately set up the schedule to allow me the sleepy time."

Gravity exhaled noisily to show her exasperation with the bullshit that was spewing from her Commander's mouth. She stormed off to put away the tools she was carrying and also to put distance between herself and the most annoying person in the fleet – her boss.

"Hey, Gravity, not to alarm you or anything but I think something is approaching us." Fia said casually as she turned on sensor 5a.

The only indication that Gravity actually heard her was the tiny pause she made while walking away.

"And just to clarify, I'd rather pretend we don't know anything than to scare whoever this is prematurely. Just to get a feel of the bub and all."

The problem with stretching or squeezing her BEM field was that those in it could sense the fluctuations. If whoever was approaching sensed the change, and that someone was of mechanoid build, they'd immediately know that they'd been spotted. At the very moment Fia was in perhaps the best mood she had been in a long time and her light and elated state was instantly reflected into a light and pleasant BEM field. Having a pleasant and thinly stretched field was a lot easier to hide than having a cranky, harsh and oppressive one. It would take far longer for whoever was out there to figure out he or she were in her field and that would only happen once said person was close enough to her where her field was naturally thicker.

At the moment she could sense what vaguely registered as the sense of somebody watching you behind your back, vaguely, in a mostly consistent direction. It was very feint, right on the edge of her field, but it was just enough of a thing to make her notice it. And it was steadily growing stronger.

 _[May 3rd, Unnamed Mining Planetoid, with Team Harry, 3:20 am]_

A thunderous echo swept through the mountain making all four mecha stop what they are doing and just listen and look around.

"Avalanche." Al stated, his audial fins erect and alert. " That's bad. Should we go back?"

"We are almost done here. Once we set up this sensor we will fly back and check on the situation. If worse comes to worst, we will break radio silence." Harry said and set out to do this sensor set up as fast as this freezing cold and his hand held torch allow him.

 _[May 3rd, Unnamed Mining Planetoid, Dawnbreaker PoV, 3:35 am]_

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Fucking hell.

SHIT.

FUCK!

Gotta dig, gotta dig. Come on, diggy diggy hole. I can do this. Jesus fucking Christ my wings!

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. HURT!

Gotta dig. Come on. Please, please, please, please!

Something's leaking. My wings. Is it my wings? They hurt. Everything huuuuuuurts.

Snow. Snow everywhere.

Gotta find Toli and Ginny. Dammit. I can't.

Toli and Ginny.

Gotta find them!

DAMMIT!

Everything hurts. So tired.

Gotta dig. Stupid claws can't...

Come on.

I can't. I... I can't do this.

I gotta do this. I... so tired.

Okay... okay. I gotta do this. How do I do this?

I need to find Toli and Ginny.

AIR!

SKY!

THANK YOU LORD!

Okay! I did this. Now … Toli and Ginny.

"Anatoli? Ginny? -cough- Dammit!"

I can't sense anything.

Stupid snow insulates.

Why didn't I think of this?

Why didn't I THINK of this!?

I had to check for this before something like this happened! This is all my fault!

Dammit!

Okay... I gotta think. Need to … Jesus Christ! My wings!

Everything hurts.

FUCK!

Fuck...

Toli...Ginny...

I'm... so tired... I... can't do this... Damn.

I'm sorry...

I'm so, so sorry...

 _[ FINALLY, THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR IS HERE!]_

"Oooh, that's gotta hurt." the black and white mech chuckled. "Not everyday you see a buncha 'connies fall for their own trap. Just beautiful, teeheehee!"

Jazz chuckled again just savoring the scenery of a mine blowing up in the faces of three Decepticons. Come to think of it, Jazz didn't quite remember seeing those particular mooks on the planetoid. True, they were still searching for him and his two fellow Autobots, so maybe they had sent for extra help. All three of them were pretty high ranked and high profile. Another Energon pick up wouldn't be happening for a few more cycles so...

Okay, now Jazz suddenly had the inkling suspicious that for some inexplicable reason, maybe those guys weren't Cons at all. In fact, he had been watching them for a while now and all those three were doing was place some sort of strange devices onto the ground, all around the plateau and-

"Vector Sigma." Jazz swore under his breath and quickly transformed into his alt mode which vaguely resembled a snowmobile due to the modifications he had made for necessety's sake. His engine roared to life as he sped down the slope.

Soon enough he was able to see the very distinctly bright red shape of the big one of the group.

"Definitely a femme. A sexy shuttle femme. Ugh. The wings are in pretty bad shape, shuttle babe. It's gonna be a glitch to fix 'em. They sure look fancy too."

Jazz carefully moved the unconscious femme's head to check for any other injuries. It was a real shame, really. The femme looked young and she had a most vibrantly delicious cobalt dermal plating that contrasted wonderfully with her bright red armor and- holy scrap, blue flame decals? As awesome as they were, no self respecting flier would come near ground pounder stuff.

"Scrap, babe, you cracked one optic in the – Oof!"

Suddenly, the femme opened her one good eye and flung as far as she could from herself. Jazz landed harshly into the still soft from the avalanche snow and he halfway in. By the time he dug himself out, as fast and as expertly as it had been done, he nearly fell back into his Jazz-shaped snow hole as her field hit him full force. Grief, panic, anger and pure, unadulterated rage the likes of which he hadn't seen since that one time (that he never, EVER talked about) he barely escaped Megatron's clutches.

Energon was oozing freely from her form, especially her broken wings, and she wobbly, painfully got to her pedes, a few agonizing groans escaping her as she did so. Her sole focus was on him and him alone and it took him a moment to just take a look at her and to take in just what he was seeing. She let out a strangled battle cry and charged him and it was only his nimble, dodgy nature and experience that got him out of the way in the nick of time.

She swiped at him and he dodged again. Her attacks were wide and slow but the glint of those claws promised that if any of them landed, he'd be in very, very deep trouble. For now, it was a waiting game. He'd have to wait out for the femme to tire in order to secure her and figure out what the hell was going on. She swiped again, this time slower and more sloppily.

So far he hadn't spotted a 'con badge, but there was also no Autobot one, either. So... a neutral then? It would explain while a single flier was in the presence of two grounders. After all, nearly all the fliers were on the Decepticons' side and they _always_ traveled in flocks. Not that he claimed to be an expert on their society but he knew as a rule that wherever there was one Seeker, there were at least two more nearby and that thought did not ease his mind one bit.

A breem and a half passed in this strange and very antagonistic dance the two of them were doing. With injuries such as these, he'd be in stasis by now. She _should_ have been in stasis by now. Whatever was keeping her awake must have been pretty important. There! Finally! An opening! The femme was getting slower still and now there was big enough margin between her attacks for him to counter and at least knock her out.

As she fell unconscious on the ground, he noted the strangely shaped scribbles onto her inner forearms.

"You're as tough as they come, shuttle bae. Now lets make sure you don't die while I get help."

 **:: Yo, Prowler! ::**

 **:: My designation is _Prowl,_ Jazz. -silence then a long, suffering sigh- What is it _this_ time? ::**

 **:: You would NOT believe what just happened, Prowliekins! ::**

Prowl could practically _hear_ the huge shit eating grin that was spread on Jazz' face. He exvented and tried to calm himself. Of all the people to be stuck with on this pit damned mine, it just _had_ to be Jazz.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So... snowmobile!Jazz. Any takers? I thought people would blow up about "daring" to take off his wheels for some ski experience. But I thought it was fitting seeing how awesome and tricky he is to begin with. Anyways, we finally get some fighting and Ironhide to boot in this chapter. Also why Jungler is scarier than Gravity, Anatoli and Dawnbreaker together. In one of the initial drafts I made for this story, she was actually a T &I specialist and she was less of a passive aggressive person and had more of a Batman/Punisher feel to her.**

 **Anyways, about the cannon transformers designs that I went with. I've looked up the internet and found a variety of concept arts some of which had their WFC or G1 designs in mind while others focused on their movie designs.**

 **For Jazz I had to ask myself "What does Jazz do and how to apply that to his design?" As you can see, with him there isn't an easy answer. Obviously, if I go by the MCA (Mechanoid Classification Act) I made, he is a G23 with focus on mobility, flexibility and tactical precision strikes. He is a sapper, a bad ass ninja infiltrator and a top-knotch spy when he has to be. I was wondering where had I seen such a combination of characteristics when suddenly Leliana from Dragon Age popped into my mind. Also, Jazz has a cool visor, he loves music and dancing, and even as an ally he is basically the hornet you put in your pants because it's better to have it there than to have it stinging the kids by the pool. So, in the end I went with a more streamline, sleeker design that would make his lurking and trolling easier in the long run. The closest to the image I had in my head was a concept art done by CaroRichards.**

 **For Prowl I went with his official Prime concept art. Dawnbreaker's gonna lose her shit over the fact that he has warheads mounted on his shoulders. I will not lie- I have been giggling like an idiot for a few days now, making my household nervous. I've sooo many cool conversations in mind ABOUT him and INVOLVING him its just... giggles teeeheeeheee**

 **Ironhide was probably the hardest, because I already have Anatoli, who is a certifiable war-machine – turned geologist – turned mechanoid. I think they'd make good buddies if they don't kill each other first. Ironhide is one of those bad asses that you just can't help but want on the team and he is also exactly the type of influence Fia DOESN'T want her Viking Boys to have. He is extra trigger happy. His loyalty and hardiness would do them a load of good, at least.**

 _[May 3rd, year 2032, with Autobot Jazz, unknown location, 5:05 am]_

 **:: I can't really move her, Prowl-Prowl, she'd rip the patches open. Also she's a big babe, you know? One hundred percent red hot shuttle hotness. With sexy blue grounder decals. ::**

Prowl pursed his lip plates. True, given the war and their current predicament, it had been a while since either of them had even _seen_ a femme proper, but that was hardly a reason to break protocol and act like a randy newspark and-

Prowl exvented. Jazz was a professional, no matter what some of the more skeptical Autobots said. Logically speaking, Jazz was either trying to get a rise out of him (his current most favorite game) or he was trying to deflect his own anxiousness with jokes and obnoxiousness. Prowl guessed it was probably 37.452 percent of the first and 62.547 percent of the other. He left that 0.001 percent as a probable error margin in his judgment. And to think that nowadays his Tac Net was mostly used for such useless observations. Yes, he was bored as pit. Yes, their situation was far from stellar. Yes, he _may_ have filched Ironhide's last packet of rust sticks and he _may_ have blamed it on Jazz with some help of his usual stoic and no-nonsense character and mannerisms...and _maybe_ with some help from his Tac Net- Okay he was getting off track, but he had promised himself to get a packet of rust sticks to Ironhide and clear up that whole ordeal at first possible opportunity.

But back at the problem at hand. Jazz was in enemy territory with an unknown Neutral shuttle femme that could quite possibly be their only ticket out of this pit of an Energon Mining Complex. He couldn't move her and it would take too long for Jazz to simply leave her and get back for medical supplies. As scarce as those were. His only choice was to break radio silence with Ironhide too and send him to Jazz with said medical supplies. Hopefully it would be enough to get the femme out of stasis and get her to safety.

 **:: Jazz, I will send Ironhide with the medical supplies. Make sure to stay out of trouble. ::**

 **:: Depends on what do you mean by trouble. I mean, if we are talking about Shuttle babe here, then the last thing I wanna do right now is staying _out_ \- ::**

 **:: Jazz, _behave._ ::**

 **::Ooh, I think somebody's sour 'cus they ain't getting any Prowie-Wowie time – ::**

"Aww, he hung up. Well, it's just you and me, Bae. I'm Jazz by the way, Autobot saboteur extraordinaire at your service!" the femme in red was still completely unresponsive. "Aww, mech, this might take a while."

 _[May 3rd, year 2032, Abandoned Energon Mining Facility, Third Fleet Forward Camp, 5:28 am]_

"You _left_ Fiona to fend for herself?" Jungler repeated dangerously.

 **:: We are still looking for her. When that bomb went off under her feet, the avalanche swooped her in a completely different direction from us. We suspect she fell off the north-western edge of the plateau. First Lieutenant Zhukovsky requires immediate medical attention. His right knee gave out about half an hour ago and we don't have anything to strap to his leg. We need Mr. Frio to extract us and possibly help us find the Commander. Gravity out. ::**

MJ turned to look at where Sky, Lewis, Jaeger and Fernandez were all huddled together and watching her intently, worried looks on their faces. She bit her lower lip. As the highest ranking officer present, it was her duty to authorize a rescue mission. She was worried whether or not Sky would be able to handle the flight. Ever since the hangar had gotten warm enough to be hospitable, he hadn't moved from it, preferring to stay inside and away from the cold and the snow, which seemed to cause him distress.

"Sky. I hate to ask this of you but -" she began.

"I understand, Michelle. I'd never leave Fiona out in the snow. If you hadn't suggested it, I would've gone anyways."

The organic part of the team were nodding along with him.

She smiled earnestly.

"Thank you." she said softly.

 _[May 3rd, year 2032, with Team Harry, 6:00 am]_

"You feel that?" Brian whispered as all his cousins stilled and immediately perked their audial fins. Had there been anyone looking out at them, they would've been reminded of a pack of wolves on the hunt.

"Yeah. I feel that." Harry walked slowly forward, ahead of Brian and slid off the hood of his white camouflage cloak. He was as silent as he could be, the only sign of his presence being the soft crunching sounds made from his footsteps in the snow.

It was a single entity, not too far away from them, right on the edge of their thinly stretched fields. While they weren't as proficient as Fiona with their BEM sensing ability, they were still capable of basics.

A decision was made and wordlessly, Blacklash (Harry) took off his cloak and put it away in one of his many in-built compartments. He gave Viceclaw (Al) a quick hand signal and silently transformed into his alt. The three brothers regrouped, removed their cloaks as well and took out their weapons, in preparation for what was to come. They intently watched as Harry quietly sped off close to the ground, in order to make his ambush successful. After a minute or two, the three of them marched off in a hurried pace in the same direction.

 _[May 3rd, year 2032, with Autobot Ironhide, 6:15 am]_

Ironhide cursed his luck on being stuck in this thrice-Unicron-damned icy Pit-hole. He often cursed his luck. This time, however, it was different. Mostly because his large, heavy frame sunk into snow far more than Prowl's frame and Jazz more often than not loved to rub it in their faces how he had the hindsight to modify his alt in order to slide around in circles and laughing while they, Ironhide and Prowl, had to grunt and suffer through this- _THIS PRIMUS AWFUL FROZEN HYDROGEN-OXYGEN COMPOUND THAT'S EVERYWHERE! VECTOR FRAGGING SIGMA!_

Ironhide took a few calming vents. He was made for honest to Primus combat situations where he and his many opponents duked it out in an honest, well meaning – oh who was he kidding? Not himself, quite obviously. He was actually disappointed there wasn't a single Con in the vicinity for him to royally slag to the Pit and back again. Pit, even those fragging mass produced Vehicons were better than nothing in this frozen Pithole. He took a customary glance at his improvised servo-mounted radar. He nearly turned back to his long trek when his processors caught onto the blinking little dot rapidly approaching him. A toothy grin spread from his lip plates.

"Pit, it's about time."

He powered his cannons just as his audial receptors caught the very quiet but still very well known tell-tale whine of seeker turbines. A blast roared from one of his cannons. The black seeker expertly dodged and transformed mid-flight, drawing a long thin two-handed sword and slamming both pedes onto his chest plates.

 _[May 3rd, year 2032, with Blacklash, 6:15 am]_

The unknown alien mecha opened fire almost immediately upon detection. So much for caution. He was certain that he hadn't been detected via his BEM field, thus his only conclusion could be that this strange person had a contraption to specifically detect others. In the span of just a few seconds, he already had accumulated numerous questions that needed answers. But right now, he had to subdue this imposing, dual-cannon wielding, red and black mecha.

He landed and immediately rolled on his side to avoid being shot to smithereens. Perhaps it wasn't the best ideas to try to charge someone who could easily keep his distance. The alien mecha looked battle ready and battle weary. The nasty scar on his face was a testament to his experience with war. So, perhaps these people had some sort of war effort going on? Perhaps with themselves? Perhaps the Xarynthians? Fiona never really explained the why's and how she ended the war. It was a taboo topic and he suspected that even if MJ knew what the hell her best friend had done, she'd never share. There was a tone of finality whenever she spoke of their terrible adversaries. It always sent chills down his spine, just thinking about it.

But such thoughts were neither appropriate nor helpful in his current situation. The battlefield was uneven and ridged with ponty, sharp dagger rocks, deceptively covered by the soft, freshly fallen snow. The entire desolation of the area was made worse by the absolute lack of organic life in any form – something that was becoming more and more unnerving by the hour. This mecha before him knew well the dangers of their surroundings. Despite the heaviness of his footsteps and the way it was made obvious he struggled with the snow, he could tell that he knew exactly where he was stepping and how to step.

Harry took a basic defensive stance and gave his opponent a respectful nod, hoping he'd cease with his aggression so they could have a normal conversation. Or, well, buy him enough time to hit him over his tin head and drag his bound and unconscious metal ass back to base, where Lewis and Sky would do the interrogating. Perhaps MJ could help. She had this whole Femme Fatale thing going on whenever she wasn't busy being a sadistic doctor bitch. Fiona's words, by the way, not his.

Harry stepped out of the way from another wave of blasts aimed at critical, life-support areas and pulled out his gun. It was a small, standard issue, specifically designed to be used by mecha of his size. Like MJ's Machete, they were part of their mandatory equipment and even most of the civilians (those who had passed the training course and had their certificate) were armed with similar weapons. The idea was simple – better safe than sorry.

His issue was simple – he had to disable him without causing critical damage. Given his situation, that'd be incredibly hard. He suspected his cousins would be here in at least half an hour, which meant he had to tango with this fellow here – who just shouted something in his alien tongue. He did not know what he said, but he guessed the derogatory nature of the statement pretty easily.

He aimed.

Before he could react, something tore at his side.

The red and black mecha turned to look at whatever had shot him.

Harry blacked out.

 _[May 3rd, year 2032, with Autobot Jazz, 7:30 am]_

 **::Hey, Prowlzers, I think someone's approaching my location. Can you check if it's Hide? ::**

 **:: _Prowl,_ Jazz. My designation is _Prowl_! And no, that cannot be Ironhide. It's too early. ::**

 **:: Well, I'm bound to have a party, anyways. Think it might be more femmes, Prowlie? I can set you up, you know, say a few good words, be a good wing man* and all to my buddy, the Prowlinator and – Ack! ::**

 **::Jazz! Do you read? Jazz, answer me! ::**

"Pit to it all!" the normally calm and collected Prowl roared as he grabbed the desk before him and threw it to the side, delicate devices and data tabs with sensitive information be damned.

Communication with Ironhide was lost, Jazz was in enemy hands, communication also lost. He could not help but think the worst, in all of its tactical, logistic, nightmarish glory. He had no choice but to go out and help his fellow Autobots. His brothers in arms. His friends. Yes, even Jazz. He'd allow himself to reluctantly admit that.

Carefully he steadied his raging processor and carefully recalled his surroundings in relation to his current location. Unnatural calm spread through him as a three-dimensional map appeared inside his mind and swiftly, he made his way to where he had left his self-styled staff. His grip on the metal staff tightened as he paused at the exit of their secret base.

"Pit to it all." he repeated quietly.

Sometimes, despite his powerful processor, despite his training, despite the reassurances from Ironhide and Jazz that he'd be fixed as good as new as soon as they could get to Optimus and their medic, Ratchet, despite all of that, it was still hard on him. His tac net was telling him the odds were nigh impossible, but his spark was telling him he still had to try.

He still had to try, even if he was literally walking blind into the battlefield.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I apologize for cutting chapter 9 but I hope this chapter reaches you soon enough. I purposefully left chapter nine as an over-all cliffhanger and revealed a tiny tid-bit about Prowl that I think will add more intrigue to the story. I hope Jazz doesn't come off as a total flirt, rather than a guy who hasn't had ANY in a very, VERY long time. I remember reading a fanfic ( 2007 Bayverse based) where Ironhide says "Damn, we need women." or something like that. I think that aspect of war is pretty damn hilarious, given the severity of the situation as it is.**

 **Edit: I was supposed to post this chapter several days ago, but while discussing the story with my sister, and we had a very, very long discussion about how the first Contact would actually go. She was sort of unhappy with how I've been portraying MJ and then saying she's this awesome passive aggressive doctor bad ass. She also heavily criticized some other characters. Being the sisters we were, we bickered for days, thus this is the main reason for the huge delay.**

 **Edit: Chapter still not posted. Apparently I made a huge mistake involving Gravity that required to rewrite large parts of the entire chapter and simultaneously set my plot back by at least several more chapters.**

 **Anyways, about the little asteryx added to the term "wing man" at the end of chapter 9: while it holds the same meaning as it does for us humans, in Cybertronian pop culture it refers to the Seeker trines and how they tend to do things together. Like helping their wing mate score a date and stuff like that. I am working hard on fleshing out Cybertronian culture and I hope it shows. Also, in this story, whenever we see a Cybertronian talking in their language or from their point of view, assume that any given translation to English has been made in such a way to be understandable to us.**

 **I have a lot of material about this story that didn't make the cut but I might add later as side stories, for example MJ's work during the first months after the Event, how Fia lost her son, more of Fia's backstory, since it's really, really complicated and she's been through a lot which contributes to her over all extreme at times character. Also a bit about the little-known war heroes who will be more or less only mentioned. Like Tiffany Mitchels, whose example inspires people even well after her own death. There is also this guy Sam, not Simon Woodsworth, but an Aussie fellow that I've ever only mentioned in my other fanfics once or twice. He is amazing and awesome on many, many levels and part of the original story all of my fanfics are based on, more or less. I can say I've worked hard to flesh out my characters. They all have backstories and they all have their own reasons for doing stuff.**

 **But let's get back to this story before the feels get too much about all of my unspoken heroes and stuff.**

 **Edit: Finally found the files. Had to reinstall windows on my shitty lap top after which lost the USB with my written work forlder. Fun times.**

 _[May 3_ _rd_ _, year 2032, with Autobot Ironhide, Brian, Albert and Wolfgang, 6:30 am]_

Seekers were a nasty lot, no matter how a grounder looked at it. Ironhide, being as old as he was, remembered a time back when Vos had been at its height of power and the Vosians had looked down upon any groundpounder in their vicinity. Vosians, especially the Seekers, were an isolated lot that took offense from anyone and anything. Their prettiness almost made up for their horrid tempers and their egos. Almost.

So here he was now, asking himself, if Vos had joined the Decepticon Cause then why were these Seekers not part of the Decepticons as well? The Seekers were a single flock the way Ironhide understood it and he knew what a Seeker looked like, even if these ones were particularly large and thickly armored. They most certainly reminded him of Thundercracker, one of the Air Commander's Trine. Especially their largest one, a mech with a massive and powerful frame that just cut in half one of their Decepticon attackers with his broad sword.

Ironhide knew very well what he was seeing, even if every single program in his processor was ordering him to shoot them. They looked the very definition of a Decepticon, especially the black sleek one that had been knocked out during the beginning of this fight. Still, these were youngsters, he could tell by their lacking fighting technique. They were most likely part of the neutrals that had for some reason landed on this Pit-forsaken Energon Mining Facility.

They did not speak a single glyph of Neo-Cybex and even the few glyphs he knew of the Vosian dialect were just as unknown to them. They had their own archaic language that he could not understand nor comprehend but he knew Seeker behavior well enough. These folk here, whoever they were, had the Seeker coding active. He could see it in the way their wings flittered and spread, challenging their opponents, in the way they practically danced on the battlefield and dodged whenever possible. Their near feral smiles indicated a blood thirst, a desire to completely decimate their opponent and at the same he could practically drown in the protectiveness and the aggression that followed, all because of their fallen wing-brother.

He had thought today couldn't get any stranger, but now he could add fighting along side Seekers as one of his strangest encounters to date. The three Seekers were obviously brothers, having similar frames and paint jobs. The smallest of them, the one wielding a large two-handed hammer cannon of a sort, was patching up the black Seeker, who, come to think of it, had exactly the same helm crest as the other three, and shared a distinct likeness with them as well. Perhaps a fourth brother?

" _I cannot contact forward camp or Sky. Harry's got a main Calorium line punctured. I can patch it up but he'll need Jungler to fix him properly."_

 _"I don't think we can afford to wait too long, Al. Brian managed to send out an emergency message as soon as- Hah!"_ The second tallest of the three brother Seekers decapitated a Vehicon before quickly dodging a blast to the face from another Vehicon. The young-spark had good reflexes, Ironhide could give him that. _"Where the fuck are these jokers coming from!?"_

The frustration in his voice was a clear enough indicator to what he said, at least Ironhide thought so. The Vehicons were literally swarming them. Possibly a small token force left behind to patrol the system just in case Autobots and Neutrals would pop up.

Ironhide forewent charging his own cannons. At this point they'd consume too much energy. Energy that he could not easily restore. He bent down and picked up the middle brother's fallen second axe and swung it with practiced ease, effortlessly splitting the head of a Vehicon standing next to said Seeker Brother. The youngster blinked for a second and then turned to him and nodded, thanking him for the helping hand.

They had this wordless agreement going on. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And since he had been lucky enough for the three Seekers to see the Vehicons ambushing the fourth Seeker, they had readily joined him in battle.

 _"Blacklash is secured! Clear the area – it's Hammer Time!"_ the smallest of the three brothers yelled and Ironhide could practically taste the rapidly rising killer intent in his field.

Al used his anti-grav thrusters to boost his jump as he prepared to bring down glorious techno justice upon these aftholes. Brian rolled to the side as Wolfgang bodily shoved Ironhide out of the way. Albert was the oldest of the three brothers. He may have been the smallest (relatively and not by much) but he was also a force of reckoning.

 _"BOOYEAH, MOTHERFUCKERS!"_

The hammer slammed with the force of a meteorite. There was a quiet but high pitched sound emitting from the rapidly growing, glowing core of the hammer head that was quickly increasing in intensity. Before Ironhide could understand what was going on, parts of the hammer head separated, detached. For a moment nothing happened and then, as sudden as a super nova, the blast wave swept away everything in a cone shaped EMP within a moderate distance. Whoever had designed this weapon, it was a fragging piece of art, an instrument of death that few would have the senses to appreciate in its true potential. Now he understood why the smallest Seeker's servos were coated in such a strange, unnatural looking armor. And even so, it was still obvious how he was straining with the effort to hold on to his hammer and to stay on his feet. A prototype of some sort, perhaps?

With that single hit, Ironhide witnessed four Vehicons' nervous systems being completely obliterated by the vicious EMP. It would not be enough, though. There were still at least twenty or so mooks to handle and neither of them were prepared to fight such a number of enemies who also happened to have superior ranged power. They needed a way to cut the distance without being shot to pieces. In this frozen wasteland there weren't a lot of places where they could find cover. One of the Seekers' wings was bent in an unnatural way and he had to feel at least slightly impressed by the sheer determination to continue to fight even in such a condition. For a Seeker, the wings were their life. It was another thing that literally sounded the alarms in his processors. There were so many things that were just right and then again just as many that were so wrong when it came to their particular Seeker behavior, that he just had to stop himself from where his thoughts were going and to focus once again on the battle. It had been, after all, millennia since he had last seen _**actual new faces**_. Where had these _**kids**_ come from? Why _**now**_? Why _**here**_ of all places?

 _[May 3_ _rd_ _, year 2032, with Autobot Jazz, Dawnbreaker, Jungler, Gravity and Skylar Frio, 7:32 am]_

"Woah, where have you been all my life, babe? You've turned my world upside down! Literally!"

Jazz was hanging in thin air by one pede...somehow... and before him were two femmes. One of them was the dark brown and dark green grounder femme he had seen with the shuttle femme. She had a very severe expression on her face. This close he could see the unusual color of her optics. They were a dazzling green color that contrasted heavily with her otherwise dark coloration. She looked like she could give Ironhide a run for his shanix just with that scowl alone.

Next to her was an elegant matte black grounder femme with white face plates. She possessed a retractable bronze-gold visor and beneath it a pair of pale blue optics. Just from looking at her frame he guessed she had some sort of Praxian roots. There was a Sniper Rifle on her back and a short sword of some sort strapped with some strange material to her waste. She had a pale brown, perhaps beige shawl of a similar material wrapped around her neck. Unlike her fellow femme, she seemed to scrutinize him with nothing more than carefully presented disinterest.

 _"I don't know what he just said, but I know that smile well enough."_ Jungler was NOT impressed.

 _"No matter the race, men are always pigs!"_ Gravity ground out through her teeth, irritation and exasperation quite evident.

" _Hn."_

The smaller femme passed by him and headed towards the wounded shuttle.

"I tried to patch her up, you know, babe. She's one pit of a femme. Half-dead and wings blown to the Pit and still has enough fight to take on even the Slag-maker himself!"

Jazz kept on talking, both excited and exhilarated. Finally, after all this time, they may have a ticket, a way out of this Pit-damned frozen death hole. Perhaps they could even get to Optimus. Jazz could only imagine the warm welcome his leader and friend would give. He wondered how Prime and the Autobots who made it with him were doing. He was sure Ratchet, that old bastard, was still up and kicking. He'd probably rearrange their processors backwards when he sees in just what a sorry state Prowl was, but it wasn't as if they had expected any of this to happen the way it did. If it hadn't been for what Prowl did, both he and Ironhide would be long dead and Prowl probably captured and tortured. Such was the nature of war and all Jazz could do at this point was hope that at least Prime and his Team were doing better.

These neutrals seemed friendly. At least he thought they'd be friendly. They hadn't opened fire or anything on him yet. He didn't count the shuttle babe's little outburst. She seemed the fiery crazy type to just lash out like that. She was both crazy hot and a hot crazy and he'd bet half his spark the femme'd be a riot in the berth if her zest even in such a state was any indication. Then there was this tough-aft no-nonsense femme with the green optics that he just knew would do wonders if he could just get her to wind down. And the black femme? She was absolutely silent and amazingly graceful when she moved. He swallowed drily thinking about the things he'd do with an equally agile and flexible partner. Oh mech, he couldn't remember the last time he had spent some private sexy time with a femme. As an Autobot he had priorities. As a mech... well, he had... _other_ _priorities._

" _Ginny, shut him up. I'm trying to work here."_ the black femme said mildly, pleasantly, in that strange language of hers.

About halfway through his excited rant it occurred to Jazz that these neutrals didn't speak Neo-Cybex. In fact, they didn't speak any form of Cybertronian language. About halfway through getting squeezed tightly by some sort of invisible force, it occurred to Jazz that it was the dark brown and green femme that was the source of his unlikely imprisonment. It was at that point that he noticed the glint in her green optics.

"Oh, scrap!"

And just like that, Autobot Jazz, the Jazzmeister, the Annoying One, The Alien Sapper Ninja Troll Griefer of legend, was reverse free falling into the cold sky.

And then he was free falling the proper way.

The high-pitched femme-ish scream that was emitted at that moment was so totally not his.

 _[May 3_ _rd_ _, year 2032, with Doctor Michael Jessica Keats, Designation: Jungler, 9:07 am]_

Whatever that alien had done, he had done it well enough. He had patched most of the damaged Calorium lines and had bought Dawnbreaker the time needed. It was obvious that the patch job was amateurish at best, but when saving someone's life the last thing one had to worry about was the aesthetics. He had bought Fiona time and for that, MJ was truly grateful. Perhaps the alien was a friendly after all. But there were still too many unknowns to make her trust him enough to release him of Ginny's hold.

The black and white mecha with the cheeky grin was a surprisingly animate, lively creature, MJ decided. He was cheerful, energetic and just plain upbeat. He carried this energy that was so unlike their surroundings and perhaps that had been the characteristic that had immediately appealed to her. His BEM field reminded her of Fiona on her better days, especially in the days before everything had gone down the shit hole. Jungler crushed the bittersweet pang in her heart/spark before it could fully surface and focused on her work – making sure Fiona's patches would hold until they were back at their forward camp where Jaeger would assist her.

As of the past hour and a half, Dawnbreaker was finally stable enough. Her brand new paint job was completely ruined, the exquisite currently red wings were horribly disfigured but still salvageable. In truth, it hadn't been the avalanche that had caused all this damage. As per usual, Dawnbreaker's rash actions had aggravated all of her wounds, both serious and light, to the point where torn metal had teared up further, smaller Calorium vessels had been ripped from present shrapnel and a lot of Calorium had been spilled in her attempts to vent her panicked aggression. Really, this alien fellow had absolutely nothing to do with Fiona's current condition. She knew her well enough to know when she had been the progenitor of her own wounds and when said wounds were inflicted by an outside source.

Jungler gave a customary quick glance to where the new mecha had been deposited. Gravity was watching him like a hawk and Sky had finally come close enough to them. He seemed skittish but mostly reserved in his behavior. Given his great dislike of the snow environment, she found herself remaining unsurprised and nonplussed by this continuously evolving development. She was worried for him and that she couldn't deny. But right now, even if Gravity was technically the superior officer, it all lay down to her own self to handle this mess of a situation. She couldn't afford to show neither hew worry or her own fears. Sky was spooked as it was, Gravity was in a far bitchier and grumpier mood than usual. Lewis, Jaeger and Fernandez were currently busy further deciphering this strange new alien language, fixing Anatoli's mechanical boo-boos and securing their forward base with small portable turret drones and whatever else Fernandez had brought, exclusively in that order.

She had no idea what Harry's team was doing but she was mostly certain they could handle pretty much anything for now. She could be only at so many places at the same time. Jungler, however, had the feeling this would be one of those days that she'd have to grit her teeth through. Nimble fingers worked diligently with small, fine tools, repatching wounds, sealing small ripped Calorium vessels, straightening bent, ripped metal, all the while keeping an eye on the main vessel pressure as Calorium trickled through the IV.

Base protoform temperature, electromagnetic nanite activity, EEG statistics, spark chamber fluctuations, peripheral hardware statistics, wing turbines functionality and a lot more other information littered her visor screen. Physiologically the mecha were not very different, if at all, from normal organic humans. Fiona was no exception, if perhaps, she was in possession of probably the most powerful and lively spark she has scanned to this date. Power flowed through this frame. Power that rarely had the needed outlet. Power that even this heavily reinforced frame could barely handle. Joints have always been a favorite weak spot of hers. Their maintenance happened at least three times per week, courtesy of Jungler MD herself. Especially her left shoulder joint. The huge tower shield that she was still in the process of mastering was a near-unpenetratable fortification in its own right. It was ridiculously thick and heavy, made of the best alloys Earth could afford.

This time the damage hadn't been done to her shoulder but rather her wing joints. They had taken the brunt of the mine explosion and the force of the avalanche as well. Both wings had to be manually removed and the majority of pieces had to be beaten back into shape. A grueling task best left to the Valkyrie's resident smith. For now the best she could do was to remove the wings themselves, separate what pieces of them she could and prepare Fiona for emergency extraction to their forward camp.

Had they been Cybertronians, Fiona's condition would've rendered her incapable of combat for a very long time. But they were human. And humanity was resourceful, tough as nails and stubborn. This was merely an inconvenience at best for the Commander of the Third Fleet. The Vestige Fleet.

" Doctor, the alien is stirring." Gravity informed her just as MJ stretched her stiff and cold frame. She hated winter. She used to hate summer more, given her very pale complexion, but with her current mecha status winter was a far more serious problem than summer would ever be again. But this was neither here nor there.

After Gravity's magnetic yo-yo escapades the mecha had been quiet for precisely seven minutes. Then the incessant blabbering had started again. The flirt was shamelessly laying on his foreigner charm, further annoying an already very ornery Ginny. Things would've gone from bad to worse, hadn't MJ decided that an unconscious alien was a far more manageable alien. A small syringe thrown straight at his neck later and he was in alien dream land within seconds. It was at this point that they had called Skylar over.

All the separate pieces of wing plates, broken and whole joints, turbines, armor plate pieces, ripped and intact Calorium vessels – all of these things were still coated in cooled but still glowing Calorium. All of these things had been meticulously cataloged and arranged to be stored within one of Sky's free compartments. Jutting metal wounds were cleaned up, the metal shavings stored away as well, given that this was of Fiona's own, personal flesh-metal to be smelted and reused if possible. It was mostly armor plate shavings and those were not as important as her protoform. Her protoform was in a satisfying state. Not a good one, per se, but stable and strong enough to handle the hassle of the emergency extraction.

"This is all I can do for now, Fia." MJ said apologetically as she stood up with a quiet grunt. She looked at her still unconscious best friend and delicately wiped off some of the accumulated frost on her brow and crown. This peaceful expression would be gone the moment she regained consciousness, Jungler knew her well enough. She'd wake up hissing and groaning from all the freshly patched and treated wounds, she'd start wiggling and complaining if not outright jump out of her cot and if her armor isn't removed, she'd rip it right off her protoform in her frustration and she'd scratch and fuss at everything. And _then_ she'd start to loudly complain. Again.

And that was the best case scenario. Worst case she'd wake with a start mid transportation and slug someone or something with her fists or claws, cause a lot of damage in her panicked state to Sky's hull's interior and they'd crash to, likely, their deaths due to stupidity on everyone's part.

So, to prevent all of the mentionedscenarios, she'd simply add enough tranquilizer that could potentially cause cardiac arrest in a blue whale, had it been suitable for organics. Dawnbreaker would sleep it off like a champ in twelve hours to a day and a half, and wake up in a much better and far more manageable condition. She had used approximately a tenth of that doze to put the alien mecha to sleep. It would hold off for a few more hours in which time they'd arrive and secure him at forward camp. And all of that fuss free.

It would be glorious.

...

Some people were good at babysitting children.

Other people, like Jungler, were good at babysitting grown-ups. And, for Jungler herself, using a little tranquilizer now and then went a long way to alleviate some of the stress from her job.

The trip back to forward camp was uneventful and silent. For MJ it went by faster due to her constantly monitoring Fiona. She used this time to gently remove any and all accessible armor plates which she could easily fix without them being attached to Fiona. The warm interior of Sky's shuttle form helped return some of the vibrancy of Dawnbreaker's colors. Add to that the still trickling infusion of Calorium and the cobalt blue hue of her protoform's dermal plates seemed almost healthy and normal.

The snow helped Skylar land his shuttle form very softly onto the ground. Jaeger and Fernandez immediately went out to greet them with another batch of bad news.

"We received an emergency message from Stormcloak. They've made first contact and Blacklash is critically injured. He was receiving treatment but the message came some two hours ago. We tried to contact you but-"

"The signal's been jammed. We know. We also made first contact. This one here was flirting. We think."

MJ's voice was slightly haughty as she dismissively waved towards where Gravity was carrying Jazz like a sack of potatoes on one of her shoulders and Donnie's bare protoform covered with only a blanket floating right beside her.

"It seems we have one more trip to make, Michelle." Sky stated, sounding slightly resigned at the prospect and yet determined to do his job.

"Hmm." MJ mumbled out in agreement, sharing approximately the same amount of enthusiasm as him at the prospect. "I'll set up the monitoring system on our Commander and we'll be off, Sky. Jaeger I expect you to- Where is First Lieutenant Zhukovsky?"

Silence ensued.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Edit: -added line breaks_**

- ** _deleted a scene that I didn't like so I'd make it better in chapter Twelve_**

 ** _-removed Herobrine_**

 _[May 3_ _rd_ _, year 2032, with First Lieutenant Anatoli Zhukovsky, 8:37 am]_

Anatoli was probably one of the very few Russians who had the chance to experience the Event first hand. As such, he was also one of the very few mecha capable of withstanding anything this icy climate had in store for him. Still with one knee heavily busted, he had to be, even for a Russian, just a little bit inconvenienced by all the snow that he had to plow through. Naturally, the last thing to stop a Russian in any capacity was snow. All of this lead both him and us to the one question anyone would ask themselves in the given situation.

Anatoli, you'd say, how do you cross a jagged, snow covered terrain in a quick enough fashion?

Well, Anatoli would say, it was a snowy, downward slope. There was really only one way to tackle snowy, downward slopes.

And well, Anatoli was never the type of guy to spend more than the necessary minimum time to think things through. He had a goal, and he had the means to reach it in the style of the Fast, the Furious and the Russians. The military slash geologist stripped down several sturdy metal mining carts, bolted down some thick metal sheets and pylons together into what was obviously an Anatoli-sized (and sort of Anatoli-proofed) snowboard. It was big and ugly. Anatoli loved it.

With all his sensors finely tuned to scan the surface of the rock lying underneath the snow, with a quick prayer to Mary, mother of Jesus and with Highway to Hell by ACDC blaring in his audials, the Third Fleet's most notorious Russian hopped on his make-shift snowboard and slid down the slope. He only hoped his newly- fixed knee joint would hold long enough to provide the needed support. 

* * *

_[May 3rd, year 2032, with Team Harry, Autobot Ironhide and First Lieutenant Zhukovsky, 9:27 am]_

All four fighters were larger than the individual enemy. The problem was that the enemy was a whole bunch of purple look-alikes armed with superior ranged weaponry and the most they could do was take cover behind several rocks and keep Harry's prone form safe until help of any sort arrived.

In the short amount of time the three brothers got accquaintanced with the fierce black and red alien mecha, they'd managed to create a sort of communication with him, consisting mostly of basic hand signs and and as few sylables as possible. He seemed like a cool fellow to the brothers. Cool enough that they had handed him Harry's personal pistol and ammo so he could also provide some sort of fire when it became obvious he wasn't going to use his cannons again. The grounder looked surprised and somewhat intrigued that they weren't using energy based weapons. But then again that was probably going to be the least of the surprises this day held for him and the other Autobots.

Things were looking bleak when something finally happened. Ironhide noticed how all three brothers suddenly became aware of something, their audial fins alert and frames tensing and stilling as they focused their attention on that something.

Brian grinned with a feral, fierce glint in his optics.

"Yo, bulky alien dude, we got reinforcements!" he cheerfully told Ironhide.

By the tone of voice and the sudden elation he felt from the BEM field of the Seeker brother next to him, Ironhide guessed something good must've happened. As soon as that thought passed in his processors, something big and dark literally flew by his field of vision and bodily slammed itself into the mass of Vehicons.

"Ahahaha! Say hello to my little friends!" First Lieutenant Anatoli Zhukovsky of the Third Fleet stood up in all of his might, further crushing the two mooks under his feet and pointed his twin Gatling guns at the remaining lot of purple cannon fodder. For a moment, all stood still, as the Vehicons stared incredulously at the crazy Mech who had literally charged their ranks. When the Gatling guns started firing, the unsuspecting Vehicons began to scatter from the onslaught of physical impact and penetration based high-speed projectiles.

Ironhide let out a sparkfelt bark of laughter.

* * *

Jungler pursed her lips while Gravity was _this_ close to blowing up. However, in the more than twenty-five years in which MJ had spent with Fiona and her family, the medic sniper was hardly surprised with the turn of events. The Johnsons weren't known as а Suicide Squad for nothing. All of them were batshit crazy in one way or another with Fiona being the only one without a proper outlet for the craziness, as she had found out early on. And all because she was the only girl in this generation of the family and because her mother wanted her to be all prim and proper, which, of course, made things as worse as they had become up until the Xarynthian Blitz.

Ever since that fateful day in which MJ met Fia in the British Museum, she knew that her life would never be the same. Fia's flash flood appearance in her life brought promises of adventure and excitement, of a life where she was not the helpless little girl that everybody pitied because her brother died protecting her. With the years passing by, MJ came to understand that Fia brought far more than what she initially thought she would have in her life. MJ learned things. She learned things like the meaning of true friendship, loyalty and the power of standing up for one's beliefs. MJ learned to fight and to truly make that steely, cold and calm persona she exuded into her actual self.

But as things got better and better for her, they somehow got worse for her best friend. Indeed, Fiona used to be known as the devil spawn, a true harbinger of Chaos whose mere presence caused great collateral damage. She loved elaborate pranks and one-upping people in a way that they'd never know it was her, but she herself would know and that was all that mattered. And, as their teenage years flew by, MJ slowly but surely saw how that strive for adventure and excitement slowly turned into a precarious balance of hysteria, desperation and stubborn obsession. Her best friend was hurting and either had no idea how to show that hurt to other people or absolutely refused to show it. She fought for what she believed in till her very last, dying breath so to speak and, really, MJ knew that sooner or later the fallout would hit and it would be terrible. Leopold had been the straw that broke the camel's back and now all that was left was a lot of unresolved rage and bitterness, heavily coated in a thick veil of grief. Fia had always been an emotional being and now those same emotions were theoretically her most powerful weapon.

Leopold was the cause for this. Charismatic, polite and cool even in the most intense situations he had garnered Fia's attentions early on, even before she understood what that kind of love meant. He was incredibly intelligent and resourceful and he had the ambition to succeed in life which made him a very favorable person to have as a close friend in Fiona's mother's opinion. Naturally, Fia's mother's machinations to get them close to each other even at the tender age of 10 or so years old caused her daughter to turn what was supposed to be a beautiful friendship into something incredibly antagonistic and obnoxious.

Rival, she had dubbed him, in what she had told MJ to be true anime tradition. It was surreal and unbelievably childish, but at least that gave them plenty of things to do whenever MJ visited Paris to spend the summer with Fia. Prim and proper Michelle Jessica Keats would always turn even the most innocent outing to a nearby park into the perfect alibi for Fia's endless escapades. Words would be exchanged between the raven-haired girl and Leo in the most polite yet frigid manner on the best of occasions given that Fia was usually more prone to beat somebody up physically than to slash them raw with a sharp tongue that she did not really possess.

MJ used to wonder what was the exact nature of the relationship between Fia and Leo. At first she found him nothing more than another annoying pest. Then, however, he somehow always managed to keep Fia safe whenever the bullies at her school would antagonize her and, again somehow, he'd always end up seeing her to her house so the bullies wouldn't do anything to her.

Fia was no pushover. She had grown physically strong, given the years spent lugging heavy pranking gear and climbing tall fences and trees, and had some idea of how to properly throw a punch or a kick even back then. But because of her ornery, antagonistic ways she was always blamed for everything even when she wasn't responcible. Leo had kept her safe. Even when she had been expelled from the prestigious private school he left it as well and followed her to her new, normal school, much to MJ's surprise. Because of him, MJ found herself sleeping properly at night and not having to worry about what might happen to Fia. She was safe and that was all that mattered.

Around Fia's 10th birthday MJ met another one of the strange but interesting red-heads in her blond friend's life. Rose was one of the many curiosities MJ had the chance to see become a very deeply intertwined part of Fia's life. Then a seventeen year old skinny lost American girl, she had been the perfect excuse for one of Fiona's many exuberant claims. How she had managed to drag her to her birthday, MJ would find herself still wondering. Years would pass and MJ saw with her own eyes how yet another person, deep in the bowels of depression, would be saved by Fia's sheer radiant presence.

Then there was Charlotte Georgiana, yet another red head who had been so terrified of everybody that she had been unable to speak for years. It had been Fia's bubbly nature and non-stop chatter that had brought the little girl out of her shell.

Tiffany Mitchels was a hard, crass, badass but heavily psychologically scarred soldier woman whose suicide had been prevented by a young teen blonde called Fiona who had also been having a bad day after being bullied at school. Tifa had taken Fia for a meal in a nearby restaurant where MJ had found them after a long search. She'd never forget the scene of that weird white-haired tan woman explaining in minute detail how to properly disable an attacker in less than thirty seconds. When Charlotte's uncle finally gained custody of his little redheaded niece and then they both left to live in his apartment in America, Tifa had taken up to look out for her for Fia's sake, since she also lived in the U.S. аlbeit on the west coast.

There were many people that followed. Anatoli and Lewis for example.

The medic sniper sighed and turned her full attention back to the present. As she prepared herself to provide much needed additional support to Team Harry, her eyes observed the remaining team in Forward Camp. She wondered not for the first time if she'd even be alive if it hadn't been for that overly pushy and annoying pudgy short blonde that had poked her for attention all those years ago.

Her hands tightened into fists. She had been the one to watch that annoying little girl grow into something extraordinary and glorious and she had seen that little girl change the life of those around her. She had seen the one proclaimed as failure rise above all others like a phoenix from its ashes and she had seen the true power of the one that came to be knowns as The Princess That Broke The Dawn. It was through her guidance and stubbornness that all of them had survived.

Well, all but the one that mattered the most. Little Orion. In a way, had Orion survived, Fia would not have had the powerful dark drive to end the Xarynthians once and for all. And if Leo had survived, Rose might've never been able to offer her family's political and juridical support that truly helped Fia become Humanity's Poster Girl.

Sarah Lewis had appeared around that time in Fia's life. A quirky, weird and nerdy scientist with a penchant for accidents and solving impossible mathematical problems, Lewis had been one of those recruits in the post war period that had astounded their superiors with their brilliance and even though she had only been a first year physics student at first, she had quickly become Fia's protege in almost all matters. It is almost needless to add that Sarah Lewis was a red head.

During the Change Sarah had been away to Europe where she was to spend a week giving lectures on obscure fields of mathematics. Thus Sarah had been away when her husband and their son had been affected and were of the lucky few to survive. Her three year old daughter, however, did not have that luck. Needless to say, there was a closeness between Fiona and Lewis that MJ knew she was lucky not to share. No mother would ever want to outlive their child.

Perhaps it had been the tragedy of the loss of innocent life that truly held MJ back when it came to settling down on her own. Her parents weren't getting any younger and she was yet to produce a child for them to coddle in their old age. Or, perhaps, it had been the fact she was still secretly hoping Harry would find whatever he was seeking within himself and he'd come back to her. Even she herself did not really know what she was waiting for.

MJ squished those last thoughts and donned her white cloak and her sniper rifle.

Michelle Jessica Keats was a woman of cynical rationalism and logic and she had seldom indulged the fancy to naively believe in anything.

"Never feed your delusions with false hope. That much you've taught me." she whispered to Fia after gently stroking her cheek. She then turned to Ginny and the three organics. "Keep things under control until I come back with our Lost Boys."

Skylar followed her out of forward camp, not saying a word.

* * *

The hum of Skylar's engines was the only sound that accompanied MJ's many thoughts on the way. Skylar was oddly silent in that way a child would remain quiet in the presence of their tense parent. It was an easy silence that she could have reveled in had this been any other occasion. Sky was as steady in the air as he was on the ground for which she was thankful. Her nerves were taut enough as it were.

Her visor was lowered and, for once, almost completely clear of the usual meticulously organized clutter of data that littered it. Like most of the mecha, she was not prone to rely on her "add ons" as Fia would call them. More or less all mecha retained some form of a Human Operating System Template, also known as HOST for short. With training, dedication and fine-tuning, the most base programing that consisted of things such as instinct and the five senses, a person could easily surpass anything evolution could dish out on short notice. The Change, however, was at its core based on evolution itself. Still, the add ons that her best friend adored so much ranged from that little push to the state of the art, ground-breaking, reverse-engineered and top-secret Xarynthian technology that she herself had at her beck and call, especially in her medical center aboard the Valkyrie.

It had been seven years since the Event and for what they were worth, those years were spent in grueling training, no matter how much of said training was actually recognized as such. Their time at the Commune, the chaos before the Commune was created, the nigh total destruction of the Old New York City... Humanity had just been getting back on its feet from the Xarynthians and yet there was still that last Pandora's box that those ugly bastards had left them as a parting gift.

And now they were dealing with what appeared to be a yet another alien race. An alien race of mechanical life forms that a small portion of humanity now resembled down to the genetic level. It was shocking and for now the Jungler could only allow herself to acknowledge that they had gathered important data. Fia's mission was not over yet. And yes, it was her mission, because she was the supreme commanding body of their fleet and for good or bad, and for what she was worth, MJ would follow her orders to the very end.

Speaking of add ons, more specifically frame mods, Jungler shuffled her mechanical feet in their still near pristine and brand new snow terrain "boots". They weren't boots per se. They looked like an assembled collection of white and gray high quality rubber and Kevlar parts that resembled greaves with very thick soles at the bottom with deep grooves that prevented slipping. Similar forearm protectors and chest plating protected her from the jagged rocks and also helped with camouflage. True, she was unable to transform but she doubted any sane grounder mecha would dare tackling these ugly looking edges with their tires. That fact didn't bother her as she had always been pretty comfortable remaining completely in her humanoid form. With a White hooded cloak, her med pack and her suitably colored and completely assembled sniper rifle, Jungler gave the signal to Skylar to descend.

They were almost at the location and she needed to make a quiet and unnoticed entrance. Just around this big, jaggedy hill lay her friends or - she quietly hoped was not the case - their remains.

* * *

Jazz awoke feeling unnaturally heavy and found it hard to concentrate. His audial sensors were muffled and he had a hard time concentrating enough to even try to recognize the voices he was hearing. His optics weren't even online yet, not that he had enough presence of mind to activate them to at least look at his surroundings. Something steadied its steel grip upon his frame and set him in a more natural and less crooked position. At least his proprioception sensors were working well enough.

" _I'm administering the serum, his vitals look stable. He's awake but not quite aware what's going on."_ A mech's voice, the clearest he had ever heard, lacking any and all subharmonics, which struck Jazz as an oddity. He was waking up alright, but he had yet to figure out there were organics near him or that the voice was of an organic. If Jazz could guess by the accent alone, he'd pinpoint it as very similar to an old Polyhexian Dialect he had the pleasure to hear once.

 _"Careful, Fernandez. I don't trust this son of a bitch as far as I can throw him and I can throw pretty far."_ That voice he knew well enough, Jazz supposed, given that her words ended with what he could classify as a dangerous growl. It was the kinky brown grounder hottie. Her accent was somewhat Iaconian. Not quite though.

" _Oi, Lewis! What would your dear hubby say if he sees you on top of other mecha?"_ Second mech voice. His accent was possibly more guttural, the R's harsher. They came from culturally different locations perhaps? It was almost Tarn-ish in execution.

" _Oh shush it you, Jaeger! Jim's perfectly fine with me building up an appetite so long as I come home for the main course!"_ Slightly haughty, definitely sassy, confident and with a pinch of mischief. It was a young femme's voice, again with a different accent from the rest. Almost perfectly Vosian, though it lacked the mandatory air of superiority and self-importance.

Jaeger snorted in amusement, the sound strange enough to make Jazz finally activate his optics. Right in front of his face was a tiny femme with large white and green optics, a rarely pale beige colored faceplate and the most delicate and exquisite set of fiery red tendrils that framed that perfect heart-shaped face – for a moment his spark hitched, his entire frame and soul entranced by the perfection of minuscule detail that he was seeing. In one long, eternal moment, Jazz wondered how such a delicate beauty of a minicon had survived through the war. Then he wondered why the Allspark hadn't produced more of this truly tantalizing piece of art.

And then in one ground-breaking instant Jazz realized he was staring face to face with an organic encased in a slightly loose but still somewhat form-fitting enviro-suit.

His spark hitched again, but this time with a sense of an unfamiliar type of terror that had been quickly batted away by relief, mingled with curiosity, excitement and a pinch of hysterical joy. Cybertronians had long been aware of other life among the stars. Some was mechano-based like themselves, while others were organic. But never before had a Cybertronian laid eyes upon the Perfection of Primus himself embodied by what seemed to be a race of small warm-blooded organics.

Jazz rebooted his optics several times while he cleared his processor from the last of whatever that cyberninja medic had injected him with. Oh yeah, there really was a group of small organics with an uncanny likeness in their biology to their own mechanical one. Prowl was going to have one heck of a glitch fest had he been able to see them and the thought spread a large turbofoxish grin across his faceplate, showing off pearly-white denta.

" _Well aren't you one hell of a good-looking flirt."_ the minicon- the small organic femme exclaimed with an intelligent and calculating glint in her optics and an equally turbofoxish grin spreading on her own face. " _Well, here goes nothing_! Greetings!"

Jazz rebooted his optics AND his audials a few times, just in case he hadn't heard her right. Well, frag it all to Unicron's smelly afthole and back.. The Neutrals don't speak Neo-Cybex but the little organic femme goes and says hello like nothing happened. Now Prowl would definitely lose his scrap over this one.

"Well, aren't you pit-full of surprises! Name's Jazz, Autobot Jazz if by any chance you missed out on the sexy red badge here." his Audials twitched slightly which immediately drew in the small red-head femme's attention and her eyes visibly widened in wonder and excitement. His grin grew larger- after all, most femmes had a thing for his incredibly sexy and awesome audials.

* * *

"Positive, _aren't_ you _Pit-_ full [of] _surprises!_ Designation _Art_ -[of]-Improvise- _Spontainiety_ - _and_ -Vitality-[of _]_ -Musical-Production _._ Autonomous Robotic Organism _Art_ -[of]-Improvising- _Spontainiety_ - _and_ -Vitality-[of]-Musical-Production if _by any_ probability you lose _out_ [on] the _sexy_ red identification here."

The mecha's audials twitched like a cat and all the while Sarah was thinking "Holy shit what a mouthful his name translated into!", she also couldn't help but internally squeal at the absolutely adorable mechanical kitty ears. She dutifully showed the rough translation to her companions.

"And here I thought Lifts-Her-Tail was a funny name." Fernandez earned a very light shove from a glaring Gravity which sent him flying into Jaeger, who had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Sure, the situation was bad and there was a high probability that some of the folks outside might not even come back. But they were trained for this and right about now every bit of good spirits counted. Communication was going to be a bitch anyways. At least they had the best person for the job.

Sarah Lewis was one of the youngest Nobel Prize Laureates in history, having designed the mathematical formula which had been the foundation for creating the Xarynthian Glyph Decoder. She also happened to be Commander Dawnbreaker's protege and one of her most trusted subordinates.

"Sarah Lewis. Robert Fernandez. Hans Jaeger. Gravity." Lewis pointed at herself and each of her companions and then used an encompassing motion with her hands. "Human."

She turned back to look at the alien mecha straight in the eyes, all humor replaced by tense determination.

" _We come in peace."_ Lewis said the phrase slowly and clearly, making sure not to mess up Sky's words. There was a lot more she wanted and needed to say. There were thousands of questions bubbling on all of their minds. But right now they did not have the proficiency nor the time. They needed to be short and clear with their intentions and they needed to know if this guy and his people were hostile. Until Dawnbreaker woke up they'd have to make do with whatever this mecha told them and take it at face value. Once she was well enough, they'd speak to him again and see if he was lying or not.

* * *

"We come in peace" the small femme said the phrase slowly and clearly, making sure not to mess up the translation that she had obviously learned very recently. Human, she had called their little group. Was Human their faction? Perhaps. It was far more likely than having the term nominating their species, which is usually what the others say in a first contact type of scenario. After all, she had referred to the brown femme as part of this group called Human.

In all of the millennia fighting in this war and even a bit before that Jazz had had the opportunity to meet many and different species. But even he, The Number One Most Unpredictable Autobot, couldn't have imagined to have a First Contact happening right on their doorstep. Well, more like their rundown backyard. This was an abandoned Energon Mining Facility and nothing special, after all. And it seemed that Cybertron now relied on his awesomeness to take care of the situation. Jazz grinned. Prowl was going to kill him this time for sure. And he'd be laughing the whole time.

* * *

She could hear battle not too far from her location and she slowed down her pace until finally she crouched behind a reasonably large rock and took in her surroundings more carefully. She needed to climb up that near vertical icy rock wall in order to gain high ground and thus the tactical advantage that snipers were known for. Her door-wings were near-perfectly folded behind her back, which impaired a large part of her audial sensory input but she had a few extra-sensory mods that covered up most of the lost field of input. The white hood also slightly impaired her field of vision but not by much. Currently maintaining her camouflage was her most important issue. The cloak was designed to help absorb transmissions sent out by most type of sensors. Along with her matte black paint, her reasonably small frame and the Arctic Field mods, as soon as she laid down or crouched low she'd be invisible to the naked eye and impossible to tell apart from her snow-covered rocky surroundings.

It was unnerving to work in radio silence but over the years she got used to it. The first ten years after the Blitz she had more or less abandoned the majority of her field training in order to focus on her medical career and also on helping the Recovery and Retrofitting of the Xarynthian ships. None of those things required any sort of physically demanding work which, in turn, had made her complacent.

For the first few years the nights had been the worst. Even Harry had professed to finding it hard to sleep due to the silence. Sometimes they had nightmares and sometimes the restlessness grew into full out aggression. She didn't often think of how she had broke up with Harry but the general consensus of her thoughts told her that while the Blitz had brought them together, it had been the Peace-time that followed afterwards that drew them apart.

And Harry...

Harry didn't trust himself around her, especially not when their petty and meaningless fights had gotten to the point where they were physical. He didn't trust himself to keep his wits about him enough to not make a repeat performance of what he did to Leopold. After what he did to Leopold he had become a broken, quiet and brooding man. He regretted what he had done and she regretted being unable to help him.

And now he lay somewhere on the other side, possibly dead, possibly simply unconscious. Jungler exhaled slowly and cleared her mind. She could clearly hear Toli's jovial battle cries. If Toli was having fun that meant Harry would be fine. She swallowed guiltily, realizing that while Fia's other cousins were also at stake and probably in the same amount of danger, it was really only Harry's welfare that truly bothered her.

She wasn't perfect and as much as she tried she could not be that selfless good person she strove to be. She was only human and she just selfishly wanted her precious people to be OK. And perhaps, those who crossed her path along with them would be OK as well.

One last look at her surroundings and Jungler began her ascent up the icy rock wall.

* * *

The large dual-wielding crazy mech that was currently laying waste to the Vehicons quickly managed to earn at least a bit of respect in Ironhide's mind. He was a thickly armored, heavy mech with a very aggressive long to mid range approach to combat. It was obvious that he could be a menace at close range too, if the weight and sturdiness of these twin rapid fire guns were any indication.

Speaking of guns, Ironhide could not help but appreciate the weapon in his hand. It was obviously not the strongest nor the most advanced weapon he had ever held, but it was still capable of causing severe enough damage if his shots were accurate enough. The small gun was oddly light in his hand and its recoil was easily handled as well. It was the same gun that the other brothers used and it came to his mind that it was a sort of standard issue back up weapon. Compared to it their melee weapons were all state of the art and very obviously custom. Ironhide allowed himself to spare a glance towards the shiny long thin straight blades that lay near the black slim seeker's prone body. Of the very few movements he had seen the Seeker kid execute, he could already deduce that even Prowl would've been a little impressed at the prowess given the kid's age. It was also not a style he was familiar with. He doubted Prowl would be familiar with it either.

" _There are still too many of them!"_ the Seeker with the dual axes shouted over the sound of the Grounder's guns. " _Where are they coming from?"_

The frustration was palpable in the kid's voice. Ironhide could only guess what he was saying, but he thought he had a pretty good guess. There had been no spotted crafts entering the thin artificial atmosphere of the planetoid since the last big snow storm Ironhide imagined the Cons had finally managed to repair their ground bridge that the three Autobots had practically dismantled.

Ironhide let out a low grunt and took stock of the situation they were all currently in. Prowl had said it had been most likely that these unknowns had taken advantage of the snow storm to cover their descent on the planetoid, which might've been crazy and very risky, but obviously the gamble had paid off since, according to Prowl's lead theory, gave them several days worth of undisturbed advantage to do whatever they needed to do. That wouldn't been a necessarily bad thing, per se. But there was also the fact that Neutrals tended to attack both Autobots and Decepticons with equal lack of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. To a Neutral, it was a situation of Us versus Them and the term Them often included both Autobots and Decepticons.

As a rule most Neutrals were peaceful and/or incapable of fighting in the Civil war. They were those Cybertronians who had decided that they simply did not want to have anything to do with the war and had opted to stay away as much as they could from the Autobot/Decepticon conflict. Of course, there were also those type of NAILs ( **N** on- **A** ligned **I** ndigenous **L** ifeform **s** ) that caused trouble on all ends. Pirates, in short.

But these kids were too organized and had obviously had military training. Clearly not the Autobot or even the Decepticon variety of military training but Ironhide was old and experienced enough to spot a well organized combat formation when he saw one.

" _When I give the signal, get ready to take Harry and move!"_ the grounder barked out an order and the three Seeker brothers acknowledged the order with synchronized salutes and a verbal " _Yes, Sir!"_

The mech turned his attention towards Ironhide giving him a mock salute as well.

" _You seem like a big guy who can handle himself and keep the boys in check."_ He quickly ducked behind his cover to avoid getting blasted. " _I want you with me in front."_ The mech made a hand motion that Ironhide understood clearly. They were moving out to a safer position while they still had the tactical advantage. It seemed that this new mech had some sort of plan in mind.

* * *

Anatoli had a plan. It was a crazy plan and it involved breaking pretty much every single one of the safety measures that had been beaten into his head by his instructors all the way back in the days he was still a young boy no more than thirteen and his father had taken him up with his older brother and younger sister to a long trek in the mountains.

Anatoli's plan was pretty good, he thought. He was a geologist and with his mountaineering experience and the current state of his environment he knew that all he needed was a little initiative. That bulky alien mecha with them seemed to know both how to follow orders and to give them which meant he had little worry about the execution of his plan. He shoved the mecha to get his attention and wordlessly and pointedly looked into the direction of the tallest mountain top in their vicinity and then tapped one of his hand cannons with the most fiendish shit eating grin he could muster. While the alien mecha hadn't used his cannons due to low power reserve, Toli knew that if he was as half good as the professional soldier he had proven himself to be so far, then there was little doubt that he had saved a bit of his power for at least a few final good shots.

Anatoli held up his hand to get his attention and then made a rough sketch in the ground that very closely resembled the mountain top he had looked at. The mecha looked like he understood what Toli was trying to get across. And speaking of crosses, Toli drew a large, distinct one where he wanted Ironhide to shoot. The alien mecha mulled over the plan and then seemed to go all "What the heck, it's not like anyone else has a better idea.". With a simple nod and a low grunt he agreed and primed one of his cannons.

"Boys, provide cover fire for our new comrade! We got this! Hahaha! _"_

The shot contained pretty much all of the juice left in that cannon of his. It flew fast and straight into the location that Toli had pinpointed. It seemed that this alien Mecha was a very good shot and Toli's grin turned even more feral with approval.

The impact was impressive and then the whole mountain rumbled.

* * *

It had taken MJ a while to make it to the top. The metal plates of her fingers were scratched and somewhat tender and the finger joints were sore and stiff from all the climbing. It wasn't the best possible combination, especially when her trigger finger was so tired and worn, but she had had to make do in some pretty bad conditions back during the Blitz and her current situation was hardly the worst thing to have happened to her while during a mission.

Still crouching low she set out to find a suitable location to prepare for the sniping. She could see the battle in the distance. It wasn't a clear view but she could at least count Anatoli and the boys with Harry's distinctly contrasting slim black figure propped against one of the rocks in the back. He seemed to be unconscious and by using the scope of her sniper rifle she could easily make out the medical field kit IV set up and reassuringly dripping lifeblood back into his systems. He was stable at least and she allowed herself a relieved exhale.

Jungler set out to prepare her position and carefully dropped her bag on the ground and rolled her shoulders under her cloak to try and relieve some of the tension. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, feeling herself relaxing despite the cold climate and the severity of the situation. She lay completely still, her hands on the sniper rifle, optics closed and her entire being concentrated on the sound of her breathing. She opened her eyes again, feeling completely focused with the one task she had set out to accomplish.

The female Ford Mustang Mecha aligned one eye with the scope of her sniper rifle and took a peek at the battle once more. There was one unfamiliar male mecha among her people. He was roughly Anatoli's size and just as bulky with a red and black color scheme. What drew her attention was the red badge on his chest and the same symbol on his shoulder pads. It was the same symbol that the white and black nuisance of a mecha they had captured had. And that mecha had saved Fia's life. This one was fighting beside her cousins and helping them maintain their ground.

Next she focused on the dark purple foot soldiers that all looked exactly alike. She spotted the purple gryphon insignia on their frames. The same that Fia had brought along with the dead alien mecha from the mine's depths. It was an odd sight, though. These purple fellows not only looked alike but were literally clones of each other. They fought in a fairly simple battle formation and their appearance carried marks of an older (but not by much)scuffle and several fresh patch works. She had spent enough years repairing and maintaining rowdy mecha back in the Commune and during the Drill Weeks to have a general idea of what was going on. There were two factions fighting for supremacy, possibly for resources, on this God-awful planetoid and right about now the Red Face faction was helping them out for some sort of reason. She could only speculate as to the intentions of the Purple Gryphon Faction. Truthfully the Red Face faction was also keeping her on edge because nobody did anything for anybody else without gaining some sort of something out of it.

"Purple Gryphon Stormtroopers. Fia would've gotten a kick out of this." she murmured softly as she aligned her scope with one of the Troopers' heads.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Shoot.

Inhale.

MJ placed her finger on the trigger, just barely touching it.

Exhale.

Shoot.

Breathing wasn't something she needed per se, but it was an instinct she still possessed. It was also an ingrained habit to exhale before each shot.

Inhale.

She memorized the faceless mask of one of the Stormtroopers as she had dubbed them in her head, and sent him a silent thought of an apology.

Exhale.

Shoot.

Her Scope was perfectly aligned now. A scary thought passed her mind. What sort of facility creates mechano-organic clones? Humanity had barely stepped into the field of bio-organic cloning – the thought of cloning a practically unknown subspecies of humanity was certainly unfeasible at this point of their scientific and technological development.

Then why was this needed?

Why was the mining facility scraped clean of any sort of usable materials and fuels?

Their captive looked like he had been running on less than a quarter of the daily needed ration to maintain his current activity.

Inhale.

Perhaps Fia would be able to make heads and tails of the situation. There were too many unknowns in this situation and the unknown had always scared her.

Exhale.

Shoot.

She felt scared.

Inhale.

Her finger pressed onto the trigger slowly and gently.

Exhale.

Shoot.

Her job right now was to get her crew and their not so little add on alive and back at Forward Camp. Let Fia and the rest of the Fleet Command deal with the damn Purple Gryphons.

Inhale.

That was all there was to it.

Exhale.

Shoot.

The recoil ripped through her but she held steady onto her sniper rifle. She took a short quick inhale before exhaling again, slow and deep.

One shot. One more ki-

The ice behind her cracked and a cold shiver of a different kind raced down her spinal struts. She rolled away and was up on her feet before she could even register what had made the sound. A hand shot out and took the sniper rifle from her hands with far greater strength than she was prepared to counter. The move nearly had her stumble forward but she positioned one foot ahead and regained her balance only to be quickly shoved backwards and slightly to the side, thus once again having her fight to regain her footing. A kick of snow to her visor and then sparks flashed before her eyes as the butt of her own sniper rifle found itself forcefully hitting her left temple. She grunted out in pain and the visor was literally dislodged from her helmet, a few trickles of Calorium and a small burst of sparks following where the cables connecting it to her had been ripped.

She fell backwards onto her side, her vision swimming and filled with static. The medic part of her promptly told her that she probably had a concussion and she grudgingly had to remind herself to quickly move away from her attacker. His strikes were fast and precise, aimed to disorient her rather than outright kill, which in turn made her even more bitter and angry. She felt no small amount of fear as well. Her opponent was physically larger from what she could discern but not by much. She couldn't exactly catch a proper glimpse of him as he constantly kept moving which in turn made her move and she could not stay still enough to allow her impaired vision to properly analyze him.

He, for it was undoubtedly a male alien mecha, was faster than her, his footing far more secure and he was completely silent compared to her stumbling attempts to regain her footing in this uneven and slippery terrain.

MJ finally managed to stand on her two feet long enough to pull out her machete and had every intent to fillet the rust bucket of a bloody bastard just for making her look like an untrained baby. And, damn it all, he was good.

"Damn!" she cursed as she had lost him out of her sight again. She angrily pulled down her hood just in time for him to grab at her cloak and pull her off her feet again. "Gah!"

He approached her and she knew his next move would be to disarm the machete. With the hand hidden from his view she did a quick work of untying her cloak. As soon as he was close enough she rolled away as swiftly as she could and threw her cloak at him and kicked him away from her. Jungler made a run for it to grab her medical bag of supplies and the spare handgun she kept there in case of emergencies.

MJ was a prideful creature and while that remained to be changed, she was also not idiotic enough not to recognize a vastly superior opponent. She was good but he was better and while she had spent the majority of her time practicing her medical skills as The Valkyrie's CMO, this person here probably spent the majority of his time either fighting or honing his martial arts skills.

Once the strap of her bag was firmly in her hand she didn't even turn around to see where the alien mech was. She merely dashed forward and away, occasionally stumbling and slipping but never losing her speed. She could hear him clearly following her – her door-wings had been high at alert the moment that bastard started fighting her. Her vision wasn't going to get better anytime soon and she thanked her stupendous luck-

"Ungh!" her foot caught onto a crevice and there was a tell-tale metallic snap as her body was wracked with white-hot pain. "D-Damn it!" she choked out as hot tears of diluted Calorium dropped down her face from her eyes. She had just broken her ankle in probably the most inopportune moment.

* * *

" _Lewis, seriously, he is laying really thick on the charm. Come on, tell him you're taken or something. I know you have a thing for foreigners and all but-_ "

" _Pish-Posh! Nevertheless you are right, though our guest here does look like an overly large and overly enthusiastic mechanical kitten left out in the rain._ "

" _More like a tom cat in heat if you know what I mean_." Fernandez mumbled and this time he preemptively moved away of Gravity's reach.

" _He isn't to be trusted and you should be careful, Lewis_." That _Gravity_ sure made Ultra Magnus look like pleasant and entertaining company. He still had hopes she was a kinky hot turbo-fox in the berth though. And you know what they say – hope died last and all that scrap.

Jazz watched the exchange and he had the feeling whatever communication they had been planning to do with him wasn't going exactly according to plan. Not that he could blame them – he was, after all, flirting like there was no tomorrow with this miniature sexy organic femme and he would totally not waste the opportunity to, uh, better the relations between their respective factions. Prowl was gonna kill him anyways, so he may as well live a little and say "Worth it!" in his face one last time.

Finally the red head turned to him and chidingly shook her head horizontally – from left to right and vice-versa and then said something in a mock-regretful tone. The two organic mechs chuckled lightly at whatever she had said and then she sashayed away to what looked like some sort of Controlled Environment Hab Suite. The entire time his optics were particularly glued to her swaying, generously filled up and curved behind which made said organic mechs to laugh harder. He grinned shamelessly at them, earning a bit of approval. There was nothing more natural to any group of males, no matter their species, than agreeing to the exquisiteness of the qualities of the finer portion of the population, A.K.A. the females, or femmes as they were known in Cybertronian terms.

Lewis came back with the largest hand held data pad they had brought with them to be used by the organic humans and then promptly showed Jazz what appeared to be a picture of her with another mech and-

"Oh no. Don't do this to me now, Babe! And here I thought we had something going on between us! You have wounded my poor, poor spark for all eternity, Sweet Red Femme!" he exclaimed theatrically and even though the two organic mechs didn't really understand what he was saying, his tone of voice and his mock distraught expression were enough to make them double over with uncontrolled laughter. Even that taciturn and stoic brown and green femme smirked at his antics. Well, one small victory – he could be happy with that, he guessed. But his plans to have some sweet alone time, AHEM, he meant interrogation- yes! _**Interrogation**_ with the cute sexy organic femme were now to be scrapped. Perhaps the other femmes were free? The _Gravity_ babe seemed a bit on the lonely side but that was probably his own boiling hot Energon doing the talking. Probably.

* * *

Her entire foot hurt like nobody's business. She was clearly not ready for this. Fuck. Even Fia hadn't been ready for this and she spent nearly all of her free time training herself. Terror and anger, and bitterness rose into her throat, threatening to spill out once more in the form of diluted Calorium tears.

Damn it all to Hell!

She hastily wiped at her face. Her vision was no good either and she stumbled through the outside pockets of her bag to get the pistol out. One good shot to the head and-

A terrible explosion sounded in the distance and for a second both her spark and her door wings stilled. She looked up, eyes wide, when the rumble shook the mountain. She was like a deer caught in the headlights and for her, there was no feasible way to escape. The entire area's worth of snow funneled straight into her direction and she watched on helplessly as her doom was swiftly approaching.

This whole thing... this had all been for nothing. All the dead and the wounded to be and now... she couldn't do anything. She was always too late, always too slow and never prepared enough. And she had been too complacent with her medical career. Fia could have nearly any medic at her beck and call but at the end of the day what she needed was someone to watch her back when all others were too busy executing orders.

A quiet strangled cry escaped her lips and new tears trickled down her face. An apocalypse of ice was fast approaching and she. Could. Do. NOTHING. MJ closed her eyes and thought of better days. The cold winds were already howling and thundering about her, announcing the mere seconds she probably had left to live. She had always been ready to die (not really).

She didn't want to die.

Not now.

Not like this.

She wanted to live but right now that felt like asking for a miracle would be a moot point. Only the heroes of old legends and the stories were ever granted anything like that. And she was no hero. If anything Fiona was the textbook example.

She was just MJ, a girl who fought for what she believed in.

The deafening roar of the avalanche was approaching her rapidly.

She didn't want to die.

Not now.

Not like this.

And then... there was a miracle.

* * *

The sounds of battle could be clearly heard over a very large distance. It was what this large jaggedy range of steep mountains could do to make sound bounce and echo on for a very long time. Most mechs relied solely on radars and satellite based maps to navigate this hell and without them they would likely be lost.

As it were, Prowl, Jazz and Ironhide had been in this Pit-damned hole for a long enough period of time to not really need a map to know the outline of most of the natural paths criss-crossing through the various jaggedy mountain peeks. Decent Energon had become a scarce commodity for them at this point and for quite a while now they have been actively working on finding a way out of here by whatever means necessary. Ironhide was decent enough with welding and with wire-work and perhaps, if they had enough supplies at hand, they'd be able to repair their ship enough to at least make it back to Cybertron where they'd peruse whatever was left of their old bases. The plan was simple – get to Optimus Prime and his team, who were currently scurrying around in possibly, and according to his Tac Net truly quite probably, similarly nasty conditions.

His conditions were at least as ideal as they could be in his current situation. His joints were stiff and complaining with every single movement and he didn't even want to think about the state of his door wings, whose pain receptors he had been forced to shut down a while back. They were at the end of their own supplies and anything that was merely inconvenient and not truly life threatening was to be ignored until they could actually spare the supplies to fix it.

Of the three of them only Jazz was in a somewhat presentable condition, though Prowl highly suspected it was mostly because of his unending supply of jokes, quips and witty remarks which occasionally managed to not only annoy him, but to even bring out the tiniest and nearly invisible hint of a precursor of a smirk. Jazz would always notice though and that perhaps was what kept the Number One Most Unpredictable Autobot going.

They were friends. Sort of. In all reality Prowl had little to no time to waste on anything other than ways to prevent the Decepticons to win the upper hand. Unfortunately Jazz had taken that as a challenge. Sort of. And ever since that one tiny, minuscule incident which involved him flipping his desk with Jazz on it and promptly raging and destroying the majority of his office (he would never live that down, all things considered) he had been stuck with the Annoying One. If prompted for an answer long enough, Prowl would say that perhaps. Maybe. Just Maybe! It was quite probable that Jazz had. Sort of. Grown on him. And before anyone went on with the utterly annoying oohs, aahs, and, **he shuddered,** awws and coos of all things, he would also like to add that Jazz would grow on pretty much anyone. Quite akin to a rust infection in a hard to reach place, you see.

Despite all of his short comings, however, Jazz was also incredibly competent and thrived within the chaos of battle, always ready to improvise, adjust and flow with it in ways that no one else could quite achieve. Prowl did not really dislike Jazz, despite how he appeared. Prowl always tried to maintain an amicable professional bond with all of his colleagues. The problem he had with Jazz lay in the fact that Jazz found it _funny_ of all things to watch him squirm under the tremendous power of his randomness and unpredictableness. To make matters worse he even went as far as to figure out even more ways to throw his Tac Net into disarray. And that took a lot of dedication and talent and Prowl had long ago grudgingly accepted the fact that there was no feasible way to make Jazz do something unless Jazz himself wanted to do it. Thus Prowl always spent days to prepare himself in advance whenever the self-proclaimed Jazz-Maister would be involved in any sort of missions.

Those days of preparation were always well spent into devising a completely fool-proof plan to properly and carefully steer the Jazz-Meister in the wanted direction. These plans worked approximately once in every five given situations but according to the Prime himself, whose patience was legendary by the way, Prowl was probably the only person that had thus far managed to cooperate so well and for such a long time with Jazz. And considering that Optimus Prime almost always had Prowl handle Jazz instead of himself, that was saying something.

In short, it was both a blessing and a curse to be stuck with this particular Autobot in this Pit-Hole.

His other Autobot companion was Ironhide who was also a very impulsive and fiery character, but in certainly far more violent ways than Jazz' casual mischief-doing. Ironhide's motives and goals were easy to understand and that stability countered Jazz quite well. No matter the situation he could always rely on Ironhide to push on through nearly anything in order to keep his companions safe and to get the mission done. And if a lot of Decepticons were blown up along the way, all the better!

Ironhide was a mech of action and not of words. He was gruff and ornery at the best of times and Jazz' third favorite thing at the moment was riling up Ironhide (first and second being, respectfully, destroying Decepticons and annoying Prowl).

At times Prowl just left the two of them duke it out whenever it felt too cumbersome to stop Jazz' shenanigans.

In short, it was also both a blessing and a curse to be stuck with this particular Autobot in this Pit-Hole.

Prowl vented a cycle of air and propped up his metal staff against a rock. He used his one remaining hand to gently rub at his red chevron, trying to will his processor ache away. It was obviously not going to work but at least he found some solace in the action as futile as it may have been. He still had some ghost aches from his missing arm and he had to stop again a few more times to manually dismiss the error messages that popped up on his internal screen. These error messages were something all three of them have been dealing with for a while now. It sucked not having a proper medic. At this point the only thing that was truly keeping them going was the promise of ending up suffering through Ratchet's tender mercies. His Tac Net had been telling him for a while now that the chances of success were getting slimmer and slimmer with each passing day and it was the type of information that he kept solely to himself.

It was his duty to do everything in his power to keep his companions' morale as high as possible in the given circumstances.

And now suddenly things changed and here he was, against all the odds his Tac Net provided, on a mad quest to save his friends. With the discipline and iron will that few had ever boasted to possess, Prowl extended his field and felt for the surrounding environment, all the while using a simple, basic echolocation program to further whatever awareness he possessed. Both of his optics were cracked and dimly lit – result of Decepticon torture. The missing arm was a result of the following rescue mission. All things considered, his injuries weren't as severe as they looked, considering even an average medic would be able to fix him in a quick manner. The stress on his systems, however, was something that he knew would have to be dealt with in a long period of time.

Prowl halted his silent progress and focused his unseeing gaze in the direction of where he finally felt something. It was a single entity, one that he was unfamiliar with. Either a new Decepticon or one of those Neutrals that had recently landed. The brush of fields had been very brief and he couldn't tell much of it, not from this distance. With radio silencing actively in effect, he had no way of knowing if said person was friend or foe.

His target was walking roughly in the same direction as his own destination – the location of the battle that was currently echoing all around him. He followed silently.

For several kliks Prowl merely observed the entity in the way it appeared through his field. It was certainly different to anything he had recently been exposed to and Prowl used the term recently in a very loose manner, considering how long he had been stuck here on this Energon Mining Facility.

The entity was most certainly not one of the Vehicons, though determining whether it was Decepticon or not was still beyond him. The feel of the field was quite different from anything he had recently come into contact with. A whirlwind of emotions danced around each other in a wild, almost chaotic manner, unperturbed by any sense of decency, even for an entity that most likely believed itself alone. As the entity finally stilled itself, he could sense a sudden, steady and rapid change within this whirlwind. Calm spread and the whirlwind was now a gentle caress with a bittersweet tinge of a lover long lost. There was a focal point, a direction that was pulling him forward, ahead of the entity and for a moment he let himself follow that pull. He found himself cycling air in an increased tempo, the act calming him just as it was calming the entity that was still continuously and aggressively projecting itself into its immediate surroundings. With him being so open and spread out in order to have a better feel of the area he was in, Prowl could do little to stop the domineering presence overtake him without alerting the entity and so he let it pass and flow through him.

The entity was young, strong and vibrant, with a powerful drive to succeed, with goals and aspirations instead of mere ambitions and, most of all, with an unerring sense of loyalty the feel of which was currently helping him understand the initial whirlwind of emotions. Friends were at stake within that battle ahead.

He approached the entity and the little bubble that surrounded the two of them broke the moment the ice beneath his feet cracked ever so slightly. The reaction was instantaneous. He could hear the entity move swiftly, still holding its weapon, the sound of which strongly suggesting a type of sniper rifle. He had to move quick if he were to survive this encounter. The weapon was primed, the entity's urge to kill was rising and he only had several nano-klicks before his processor, brain module or spark were blown to bits with one precise shot.

He swiftly moved forward, dropping his metal staff and gripping the sniper rifle for all that he was worth. He relinquished the weapon from the entity's hold by using the surprise he had caused. His next moves were precise and quick, the onslaught of emotions and sound giving him an incredibly precise overview of their positions. The entity was a young femme, whose surprise was quickly growing into outrage and panic. With a well practiced hit to the femme's head, he heard something dislodge and her falling to the ground with a painful grunt.

There was a strange rustling sound that oddly reminded him of an easily pliable thin material. It partly covered the femme as he could clearly hear it rustling with every single move she made. He heard her shuffle herself onto her feet, regaining her balance and pulling out some sort of bladed weapon. She was out for his Energon at this point and he couldn't afford to let her keep her balance. He grasped at the thin pliable material and pulled. She fell on the ground again. As he approached her to take the bladed weapon from her, she rolled away and threw the rustling thing at his frame. Somehow some of the strings managed to get snatched into a few crevices created by the space between his armor plates and protoform and he lost precious seconds trying to remove it with his single working hand.

The Femme ran as fast as she could, stumbling and slipping, but never slowing down. He gave chase as soon as he could. At this point he wanted to catch her and neutralize her. Perhaps she'd have useful information, either on the Decepticons or on the Neutrals that had recently appeared. Given her too open and emotional field he and his Tac Net were far more likely to incline toward her being part of the Neutrals.

There was a large and distinct blast that recognized as coming from one of Ironhide's blasters. If at this distance he was hearing something like this and considering the general direction in which the blast was heading towards, then he had a huge problem on his hands. Prowl was halfway out of the deathtrap of a little valley his current location was soon going to be when he heard the very distinctly feminine cry of pain and the very faint brush of what he knew with complete certainty was a combination of terror, panic and helplessness. The blast from Ironhide's cannons hit the mountain slope, the impact echoed terribly in the desolate snowy surroundings.

He was already approaching the helpless femme before he even realized he was doing it, knowing fully well that with each step his chances of survival diminished exponentially, as his Tac Net oh so helpfully provided. At this point it really didn't matter. If he were to run away at this very moment, practically leaving the poor young femme to her fate, he'd probably have a very hard time living with himself, emotions in check and all. There was no acid quite as powerful in effect as guilt itself. And, besides, he reasoned with himself, he was an Autobot and as long as his spark was still pulsing within his frame, the term Autobot would always stand for something better than the term Decepticon.

He had mere nano-kliks as he grabbed the femme with his one good hand and sprinted for all that he was worth towards the nearest calculated save spot. The femme was still frozen in fear for a moment or two as he grabbed her, but her field (and from such a close and intimate distance too) was a wild and malevolent torrent of despair and and the bittersweet sense of impending loss. In that single moment right before she had come to her senses proper and realized that he had grabbed her, Prowl realized that he had never before in his life, for the long time he had been online, felt such a powerful, intense drive to live. That, in and on itself was a humbling experience of something so Pure, _Primal_ and _**Chaotic**_ that it nearly managed to drown him in its vastness had he been a lesser mech and of lesser discipline.

Prowl shoved himself roughly in a crevice big enough for the both of them and shouted over the roar of the approaching avalanche:

"Hold on!"

Whether she heard him or not, she did so anyways. She held onto him with all she was worth, clinging for dear life. Her legs were hooked tightly around his waist and her arms clawed at his shoulders as they found their way around him, with her face hiding in the crook of his neck in a mockery of a lover's embrace. Her whole form was trembling and he could feel, strangely enough, warm Energon dripping down his neck from her optics.

Just as she held onto him, he held onto her with his one good arm in a firm grip around her waist. His poor door wings were probably crushed between his frame and the jagged rocky wall of the crevice as he had wedged himself as best as he could with his powerful legs pushing onto the rocky wall on the other side.

In mere kliks it was all over and for about a breem and a half neither of them dared to move, too afraid to disturb the deathly white stillness. The femme was first to move. She hissed out in pain, a sound that most likely covered up whatever curse she had in mind while slowly unhooking her legs from around his waist. Thankfully she was slightly smaller than him so she had some room, though not quite enough, given how they were almost completely snowed in, albeit safe. There was an unnatural, quiet rattle coming from one of her feet and he was certain that she had managed to break her ankle joint.

When he himself tried to move into a more comfortable position she had immediately stopped him, talking in an unknown to him dialect which had a very Vosian accent to it. A curious find indeed. He waited patiently and quietly, like a proper gentlemech, while she finally managed to remove herself from him in the least painful manner for her broken ankle. It was at this point that he finally noticed that she had lugged some sort of bag with her, which had been up until several nano-kliks ago half-buried in the snow that had partially seeped into the crevice they were in. As she dragged the bag across his frame, he noticed that it was made of some sort of soft, pliable material, perhaps of organic origin, judging of its feel. It was heavy and it landed with a loud thump beside her. The femme fiddled with whatever contents were inside the bag and soon enough he heard the distinct sounds of her securing her broken ankle and wrapping it in something that would supposedly help it remain secured until help arrived.

There was an utter stillness and silence again. He remained impassive as much as he could, given how frightful and jumpy she was becoming with each passing nano-klik. He was respectfully and silently facing away from her all the while she just stood there, still as a statue and staring at him, observing him in minute detail. What surprised him was the sudden onslaught of shame and complete mortification that were growing by the second.

A rogue thought passed his processor.

Just how young was this femme?

Then another really, _**really**_ rogue and absolutely _**very**_ Jazz-like thought passed his processor.

Was he making this femme very... _**bothered**_?

Just as he was starting to feel very smug and pleased with himself, the sensible, logical and _**completely**_ Prowl-like part of his mind lead a vicious coup d'etat on said rogue _**Jazz thoughts**_ that were currently bubbling in his processor. He resisted the urge to reboot his vocal processor, uncomfortable with his own state of slight rowdiness.

In all actuality, the femme, who was an experienced medic by the way, had merely taken stock of the numerous injuries and the general state of his systems, not that he had any way to know that, and she had felt completely and utterly humiliated by the fact that a one-armed, blind cripple had managed to kick her perfectly healthy behind with little to no effort. And then that same one-armed and blind crippled person had saved said ass from almost certain death. It was just too much of a blow to her pride at this particular moment for her to get over it in a more reasonable amount of time.

Utter mortification aside, the femme settled onto a more professional, focused state of mind that oddly reminded Prowl of Ratchet for whatever reason, and then she started sifting through the contents of her bag once more. She pulled something out of it with a small pleased sound at her success.

" _You need to drink this._ " was the only thing she said and then she shoved the item into his hand. It was some sort of a container as far as he could guess by the feel and weight of it. And it was full of something.

After a moment or two she seemed to grow impatient with his seeming indecisiveness and she grabbed at his hand, gently touching his bruised, rough knuckles to her lips. The action startled him greatly to say the least but then she helped him run his thumb over where he was supposed to... ingest the contents of the container?

Was she giving him... Wait. She was giving him Energon!?

She got her point across and now he could hear her impatiently drumming with her fingers onto her thighs ( _ **that had been recently squeezing his waist oh so-**_ ).

This time Prowl actually rebooted his vocal processor and carefully took a sip from the container. The taste surprised him enough to have his unseeing optics visibly widen. This was most definitely NOT Energon but it was so pleasantly sweet and rich in minerals that he nearly groaned in relief from just sipping on this liquid. The consistency was thicker than that of Energon but the energy output was tremendously lower than what Energon of the same amount could provide. On the other hand, the liquid provided with fast absorbing energy for what it was worth, akin to the rate of Red Energon. It seemed to be far less taxing to his filtration systems than normal mid-grade Energon, even though if he were to solely rely on this liquid to exist he'd have to refill at least once per Groon, which was obviously highly inconvenient.

Once he was finished with the liquid in the container, the femme shoved another item in his hand- a box of some sort. Before he could even ask about its contents, she had already opened it for him and a moment later he could feel her elegant, tender fingers pressing something bite-sized to his lips.

" _Eat._ " she had said insistently and he knew exactly what she had ordered him to do, judging by the tone of her voice and the waves of grudging, set determination.

Slightly uncertain of how exactly he was supposed to ingest whatever she was pressing to his mouth, Prowl decided that the most plausible course of action was to take a bite of said object. And he did so, slowly and apprehensively. Again, just as with the liquid from not too long ago, another amazing flavor, this time savory, exploded into his mouth. The absolutely exquisite sensory input told him that this time the substance was far more filling that the liquid, still far from what Energon was capable, and similarly easy to absorb.

The femme pressed another pellet to his mouth and he bit onto it with gusto, completely forgetting that his one hand was perfectly capable of feeding him on its lonesome.

" _These nuggets come with Barbeque Sauce._ " the femme said as-a-matter-of-factly, all the while Prowl heard her rip the pliable, thin lid from a small container. She promptly dipped one of the nuggets into the sauce and carefully presented it to his mouth.

* * *

Jungler was in a... situation. She had very limited time to make this alien mecha look slightly more presentable to at least alleviate some of the shame she was feeling. She was practically force feeding him (not that he minded one bit) mechano-based chicken nuggets with barbecue sauce and a side of what was supposed to be a very nutritious mecha version of French fries. She had two or three more boxes of similar dishes inside her bag along with quite a few energy bars, along with all the other tightly packed bundle of medical supplies.

She wondered how the others were handling the avalanche. Unlike her they could either take to the skies or had thick enough armor to plow directly through the damn thing. She had no idea about the state of the Purple Gryphon Stormtroopers but she hoped that they had been scattered sufficiently enough to have her own team mates safely on their way home. She looked at the snowed in entrance. They had to work fast if they wanted to make it out. Avalanche snow had always been notoriously fast at settling and packing up.

MJ tried contacting Sky but to no avail. The Radio silence was still in place. At least they still had an hour or so of daylight before night would settle in. Nights around here were incredibly cold.

Jungler turned her full attention back at her opponent turned unwilling companion. He was tall and lean but slightly more bulkier than Harry, he was of a grounder frame, similar to her own type – with door wings. His colors were a combination of black and white and he had a very distinct looking red chevron crowning his forehead. As far as she was concerned, chevrons were very rare. They were pretty much like audials most frames possessed but chevrons also happened to be very sensitive to any sort of touch. So, naturally, as a medic she had had to deal with a broken chevron or two over the course of her stay at the Commune.

He had switched his position to have his door wings relieved of their previous location. His wings were pretty banged up and she could see numerous little bends and scratches at sensitive locations. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at those wounds. All of them were deliberately inflicted at even, precise intervals.

Torture.

The notion made her squirm unpleasantly, her own door-wings folding protectively behind her, sympathetic phantom chills running through them. She fed him the last barbecue sauce dipped nugget and handed him another juice pack, this time a combination of mango and papaya instead of Banana. MJ moved as carefully as her newly bandaged broken ankle would allow and she took another good look at the wings.

Door wings were an incredibly delicate sensory organ that was a characteristic for the lighter classes of grounders, typically mecha suitable for covert operations and scouts. Some of the medics under her command were a typical example of mecha with door wings. She had seen only a handful of mecha with chevrons and so far there hasn't been given a sound theory on what caused this type of genetic modification, much like the mystery behind Divergents such as Ginny. This alien mecha was the first she had seen to have both door wings and a chevron. The amount of data input he must be capable of handling had to be at least phenomenal. Even with his damaged door wings and his blinded state, he must've found a way to have his other receptors provide him with enough information to make him independent enough to move freely even in such a terrain. Perhaps he possessed a form of echolocation? She never really personally bothered to try echolocation out. As a medic it had some practical application, especially for examining patients, but the precision and the required mastery that the technique needed were extremely difficult to achieve and she hadn't the time to devote learning such a technique. Instead she used a hand held sonograph and the needed data would pop up on her visor-

Oh. Her visor. She felt quite a bit irritated just thinking about it. Now she needed to get a new one. Perhaps have Dawnbreaker commission her a new one from the Science division that she oh so often commandeered, almost as if she was still in charge like back before the Change. Jungler understood to some extent why her Commander and friend more often than not felt entitled to still boss around the science teams aboard her fleet – after everything that had happened she had a scarce few things left to devote herself to.

But back to the mecha before her. He was contently sipping on the juice while she observed the state of his frame, particularly his wings. Her vision was slowly getting better, indicating that the nanites had finally kicked in to do their job en-force. She kept looking at all the unhealed cuts and old scratches and dents. They were bothering her more than they should, particularly because most of them looked mighty old and that spoke of a dangerously potent state of nanite deficiency. Come to think of it, that other mecha, the flirty one back at forward camp, also looked quite scratched up and there was some old, untreated damage that, given the amount of time that had probably passed since its infliction, it should've started treating itself. Did the alien mecha not posess nanites? That was an important question. And if they didn't, then what was to be done to counter that potentially life-threatening weakness?

Too many questions and not enough answers. And the mecha before her wasn't getting any better by staring at him sip at juice. Jungler grabbed at one of his door wings which seemed to scare him straight out of his skin, so to speak. MJ rolled her eyes, quite unimpressed, and tapped his chevron warningly. If he were to squirm every single time she tried to fix his door wings, then she was either going to sedate him (she loved doing that by the way) or she was going to simply knock him out, which was currently turning into the more satisfying and more favorable option.

To be honest his current incredulous expression made her feel vindictively smug, especially given how he had kicked her ass. Well, she was now in her element and he was now her patient!

"Stay still." she ground out, feeling a tad irritated despite her earlier small victory. Why were all her patients acting like small children the moment she starts to treat their injuries?

No, really.

Why!?

* * *

"See that, Red? Ahahaha!" Anatoli laughed (more like roared) at the success of his plan, all the while heartily patting the alien mecha on the back. "Once we get back to forward camp, I will introduce you to the whole team! And then we party!"

The red and black alien mecha seemed to share some of the Russian's enthusiasm and the Johnson boys also seemed to feel at least a bit content with their victory, though now that most of the adrenaline rush had run out they seemed more exhausted and relieved that it was over than anything else. Brian was promptly lying on the ground, eyes closed and trying to catch his breath, so to speak, Al was checking on Harry's injuries and Wolf was still in his alt mode, scouting the perimeter.

The relief would be short-lived, however.

* * *

When that stray blaster shot hit the side of the mountain, Skylar knew then and there that things were about to go horribly wrong. Chilling dread filled his entire being and the horrors of an obscure life time ago began to surface.

"No... NO! Not again! Please! Not again!" he chanted quietly, urgently under his breath as he shot out into the skies and immediately set out to search for MJ. She had been straight in the path of the thundering avalanche.

He couldn't see her anywhere. The avalanche swept through the small valley and he couldn't do anything. Again. Everything was ghastly white and silent, the cloud of sparkling white ice crystals settling in the wake of the white death-wave. He tried reaching her via the com systems but the radio silence was still in effect in the area and all he could hear was static.

* * *

Wolfgang, also known as Seeker Northflare of the United Nations' Third Space Fleet, was the Middle brother of a set of three who were rarely seen apart. Even from an early age they had always been taught that if there was no one else to rely on, they could always rely on each other. The three of them, Albert, Wolfgang and Brian, shared a strong brotherly bond. Albert was the oldest and the smartest of the three of them. Brian was the youngest but he was half-man, half-mountain, as their grandpa would often affectionately joke.

And he, himself... Well, Wolfgang was the middle brother and if there was one thing to say about him, it was that he spent more time in the air than on the ground. Of all of the Johnsons he had been the first to dare transform, he had been the first to tackle the skies and test the limits of his new body. His brothers, Harry and Fiona soon followed, and by the time the Commune had started to feel like a home, they had garnered notoriety with their daring flying stunts.

Wolfgang, or Northflare, was not the fastest flier in the skies, but he'd be damned if he wasn't one of the best damn fliers there was in the entirety of all three of the active space fleets. Right now it was not his prowess in the skies that was keeping him going but rather the innovative injection system that provided him with the needed nutrients whenever necessary. It was a type of frame modification whose invention was heavily based on the various games where health and mana potions were used, such as the Diablo series, to name one. So far only himself and Fia had gotten said modification as they were more prone to burn through their reserves than most Seekers. He- due to his flyboy tendencies; and she – due to her habit of going overkill in almost anything she did.

This mission was supposed to be the first proper field test in an actual real-life situation and so far the injection system was performing splendidly, though he had probably exhausted his entire supply at this point.

The area was clear and it seemed that they were the only people around -

"Sky? He's probably here to provide- woah!"

Skylar nearly ran him over as he sped past him towards where his brothers, Harry, Toli and the alien мechа were. Northflare decided to follow him back. Obviously something had happened. He landed just in time to hear Sky's near hysterical shouting.

"- got to find her straight away! She's out there, possibly heavily injured and dying! We have to find her!"

Cold shivers ran through his wings and everyone was deathly silent.

MJ was missing.

And it was their fault.

* * *

Tinkering with the alien mecha's door wings at least provided with something to do. It was pleasant, repetitive work of cleaning the cuts, applying Stanton's medical paste number 24*, which was usually used to increase the flow of nanites to said damaged areas but in this case she hoped the sterilizing agent would be enough and the paste itself formed something of a hard cover, which would protect from further infection and further aggravation of the wouнd. It also had a small anesthetic effect, which would also relieve from any pain, though by the looks of things the alien mecha had probably manually turned off his pain receptors.

If her door wings ever get to the point of being this damaged, she'd probably be rolling on the ground, crying for her mommy (as degrading and uncharacteristic as it sounded) and begging for someone, anyone really, to end her misery. She shook her head of the ridiculous thought. There were several small Calorium vessels that would need to be replaced on this wing alone and it would explain the visibly darker spots where ischemia had started to settle in. It was nothing irreversible yet, but she'd feel marginally better once she'd be able to fix this as soon as possible. Door wings were perhaps the most exposed part of the underlying base mechano-organic frame (more commonly referred to as protoform) and the procedure would require applying a full anasthetic. Current conditions weren't ideal, so she settled to merely covering up the exposed wiring as best as she could.

Once she moved on from his door wings and onto his actual frame, her patient got slightly more disagreeable. Perhaps it was because cold elegant fingers were poking tender worn areas under bruised armor plates or maybe she was just making him uncomfortable, considering that he couldn't really see what she was doing and also she was a complete stranger. MJ wondered if it was perhaps a cultural thing. For the most part he was very reserved in terms of reaction and tried to spare her of looking into his cracked optics. Those she'd be handling back in a safe environment, preferably in her own med bay aboard the Valkyrie.

The alien mecha was a handsome man as far as she could see and whatever he had been through, it hadn't treated him kindly, MJ noted. She had her work cut out of her and it was getting dark really fast now. She had two thermal blankets in her bag, so at least she could extend the amount of time they'd have until...well, until they died in this cold.

And speaking of cold, her patient did not seem as well accustomed to cold climates as she was. She sighed audibly and pursed her lips. Sometimes she wished things would be easy for once.

* * *

 **\- Interlude -**

The Change brought out many new things Humanity had to overcome. Above all else had been the prejudice between its own, if only for the sake of defeating the common enemy – it was all about the Us versus Them, and in the eyes of Humanity, or what human kind now understood as Humanity, there was nothing more important than keeping what was left safe.

If the Xarynthian Blitz had been a shock then what had happened at New York had been a real eye opener. Humanity knew it was not alone now but first contact had left them bitter, resentful and highly xenophobic. Now they were rebuilding, but what after? What when all the fleets would be fully operational, when the first fully human designs became more than vague sketched out blueprints? Would Humanity learn from the mistakes of the ones who had forced this new age upon them or would it become the next aggressor in turn?

These were problems that had been in consideration for the last seventeen years. Scientists, philosophers, humanitarians of all shapes and sizes had been convening on regular basis with all this and more at hand – to discuss, to solve, to think over, to try and make heads and tails of the situation. After years upon years, a consensus had been made.

Humanity was at the beginning of a New Age, one marked by the expansion of the human race beyond the confines of planet Earth. First had come Luna Base. The moon had no atmosphere of its own and as hazardous an environment it presented, it had still been the closest celestial body in relation to the Earth. Luna Base had been also the first major successful step in the long and tedious process of assimilating the highly advanced Xarynthian tech. Luna Base was simple enough – a small enough complex at first, consisting of a main building, containing all the amenities required for a comfortable stay for the on-base team. Next had come the ground-breaking addition of the gravity sustaining devices, copied off the Xarynthian ships. The Botanical Gardens soon followed and in less than three years Luna Base had become the Space Port that dealt with the entirety of the commandeered Xarynthian ships.

When the Change had happened, Fiona had been on Luna Base and the first indication that something had gone horribly wrong was the dreadful silence that had suddenly spread upon every single one Xarynthian vessel on hand. Nothing the teams tried could rouse the unresponsive Overseer.

Then word came of the destruction of New York.

Then the casualty lists began pouring in.

Then the Change became apparent.

Then their fallen Champion rose like a phoenix from the ashes of New York.

* * *

 _[Ruins of New York, several days after the Change, with Dr. Michelle Jessica „MJ" Keats]_

Like with any disaster, the most overwhelming sensation was the helplessness. It was almost surreal – the chaos kept evolving around her, there were people screaming for help, crying, shouting. Her body felt oddly heavy, her limbs felt like lead and to top it all off her head was killing her and her ears were ringing with a high pitched sound that did nothing to soothe the pain from all the screaming and shouting. She ached all over, really, but her most immediate worry was the sharp bouts of pain coming from her back. Tenderly, almost apprehensively, MJ slowly opened her eyes only to be greeted by a large slab of concrete that was mere centimeters from her face. A small whine was caught in her throat that felt tender, as if she hadn't used her voice for a very, very long time. Her mouth felt dry and she couldn't really breathe through her nose for some reason.

Her first cognizant reaction was that of all-encompassing fear. She was trapped under the debris of the now destroyed hospital. Light was nearly non-existent but there was a very soft blue luminescence close to wherever her face was. She'd deal with that later. Michael tried to slowly move her limbs and discovered that they were not broken. She dared to look to one side, not that she could really see that much and tried to pull one had free of the debris. A terrible metallic scratching noise accompanied the sensation of scraping her skin against the rough concrete surface. She didn't really care at the moment, her most immediate thoughts were of the getting her limbs free and then making her way out of her eand then trying to help free whoever else was trapped around her. She tried to filter out the screams and shouts all around her. She needed to concentrate.

One hand was free and soon was her other one as well. The doctor tried to push on the various concrete pieces around her, trying to find loose pieces of building to at least make more room.

It was an exercise in futility.

It took Michael approximately twenty minutes after she had woken to realize her hands were no longer flesh and bone. It took three days before she was finally dug out, only to find herself surrounded by unknown faces both of flesh and of metal.

* * *

As far as she was concerned, MJ had been the only doctor to make it out alive in her immediate vicinity and she had been also of the lucky few to have suffered only superficial damage, not counting the continuous sharp bouts of pain in her brand new appendages – what appeared to be her door wings. In her current state, she was a little more than twice as tall as a regular organic human and while she was still working out fine-tuning the strength in her brand new metal body, she was still perfectly capable enough to give instructions to anyone willing to help save a life in peril. That was how she had managed to organize a little open clinic area, along with the few nurses she had now under her command. Among her team was also a paramedic whom she knew by face, a man who was apparently wearing an ambulance and to whom she'd come up to his shoulders if she'd try to tip toe. People were weary of them, but they also had very little choice. People were dying and the few lucky survivors that had suffered very little damage had to do whatever they could to save as many lives as possible. That was the immediate goal they all worked on.

Some of her patients recognized her, mostly by the resemblance in her facial structure to her previously organic body and some even recognized her by her voice. That seemed to help. MJ just couldn't allow herself to stop and worry, to stop and THINK what this new state of existence meant for her. There just wasn't the time. The volunteers required near constant supervision and Jake (ambulance paramedic guy) and herself could do only so much by themselves.

On day five it seemed that word of their little make-shift clinic had spread and more people had started pouring in. Resources were scarce but the majority of the mechanical folk were doing their best to sift through the debris of the nearby hospital to try and find anything useful, or at least more survivors. It was amazing the kind of power they possessed literally at their fingertips and it was also kind of frightening. Some of the smarter mechanical folk were doing their best to help spread their own experience with their brand new bodies.

On day six MJ got word that outside help was finally on their way. It was at the eve of that same day that she received her first mechanical patient – a heavily gravid woman that had gone into labor. Both mother and child died. Every single one of the mechanicals in the near vicinity felt their death. The mother's vibrant golden armor faded to dull gray and the underlying white skin lost it sheen, also graying slightly. The newborn baby had died shortly after. It was literally naked, no armor visible anywhere and with that bright, sparkling light convulsing, shattering and fluttering out before her very eyes, through its thin, slightly transparent and oh so bare chest. She stood there frozen, the dead child in her arms, covered in the translucent and faintly glowing blue light that was their blood now. She fell to her knees as she cuddled the body of the newborn, shock finally settling in.

It was three days later that she finally came to. She found Jake by her side, offering her what seemed to be a barrel of white dry wine. She gulped the alcohol with gusto, almost immediately feeling better than she have had since she had first woken up under the debris of the hospital. She did not speak of the child or the mother, but it was obviously they were weighing heavily on her mind, as well as everybody else's. They had all felt the death, especially that of the child and they had all been distraught. But one thing they had learned from this grievous experience – they could sense each other and that knowledge was immediately put to good use.

* * *

Transformation came around day twenty along with the first familiar person she knew from before this... this Event. A bright red helicopter of indiscernible brand had hovered gingerly with one very visible passenger – a mechanoid (that was the term they agreed to use) baby in seemingly good health. That had been probably the best news they have had in a while and people cheered when the helicopter landed and the baby was taken from its interior. Then the unthinkable happened and the helicopter twisted itself into its various pieces and in a moment before them was a rather small and slim red-clad girl with a set of four pixie wings that seemed to flutter ever so often – those were the rotary blades of her previous form.

She had gingerly picked up the baby, which was half her size, despite its age, and she had started looking around her, obviously feeling apprehensive and insecure as to what she had to do next. When she made eye contact with MJ, recognition was instant.

„Michael!" her high pitched voice was like chimes, youthful and as vibrant as a songbird's.

„Oh my God, Charlie!" MJ had cried out in relief that at least one of her friends was ok. But if this was Charlie, then the child in her hands was...

„Is this Anabelle, Charlie?" she had asked, dread already filling her, knowing full well what her answer would be.

„ Yeah... this is Annie. Benjie and Tifa... they- they- They didn't make it." she whispered out the last part, faintly glowing blue tears already falling down her face.

That night she had spent with Charlie and Annabelle, talking well into the night about their fears and worries, about the state of the city in general, about their hopes that more of her friends would have survived. There was still no word from any of them and neither woman was willing to even voice a hope that they could be alive. With so many people dead, holding on to hope seemed just so futile and devastating.

* * *

Means of communication had been a fact as of the last week and the full scale of destruction was starting to become apparent. Any surviving mechanics and engineers were working alongside doctors helping to save anyone they could, mechanoid or organic. Lists with identified dead people or missing people were exchanged between the various camps and despite their dreadfully low number, reunions were still a fact and they made all their efforts worth it.

A situation arose concerning handling the mechanoids. The government wanted them contained, but the camps refused to relinquish their own and scuffles between the arriving contingents and the settled survivors' camps quickly spread. In her own camp, the tensions were at an all time high and the leaders of the camp agreed that they needed to protect their own, especially the women and the children. MJ was woken during the night by Jake and she moved along with Charlie and Annabelle to a new, more secure location at one side of the camp where a perimeter had been set up to keep them safe.

Charlie lay huddled with Anabelle in her arms and MJ sat by her side, idly stroking her pixie wings as the action seemed to calm her down. Murmurs were spreading quietly around her and even the few other children present remained as quiet as possible, sensing the gravity of the situation. Looking at Charlie and Annabelle, MJ made her decision. Things were going to go out of hand and she had to do something to stop it. She was a war hero from the Blitz and that alone got her some influence.

She needed to make some calls.

* * *

As soon as they had found out that she was alive, her parents had immediately set out to gather as much help and resources as they could and had come to her camp with a huge contingent of volunteers, all carrying something that could be put to good use. Much needed medical equipment had been provided, courtesy of her father's chain of hospitals and finally MJ and her camp could feel secure with the presence of what could be considered their most trustworthy allies. The volunteers from across the ocean numbered far more than the token US National Guard forces. The majority of them, however, were unarmed, which had been a good thing, given how fragile the balance of peace was.

A lot of things became clearer after outside help had arrived. The vicinity of New York City, or rather its ruins, was cut off from the rest of the world as a quarantine zone and none of the survivors were allowed to leave out of fear of spreading whatever had caused the Event in the first place. The Harbor was relatively unscathed but the Navy had barricaded it, in case anyone tried to leave. Fear was beginning to run rampart. Not for the first time MJ wished that Fia would be here. Given her status, she'd have been able to smooth out the tensions but as far as she knew the Princess that Broke the Dawn still lay dormant within her virtual confines. It was worrying but MJ had faith in Fia's stubbornness and her sheer force of will. Whatever had happened, it was merely an obstacle to be overcome. After all, Fiona had promised her that she'd do everything in her power to make things right again and MJ had yet to release her of that promise.

MJ turned her attention back to where her mother was drinking tea and cooing over Anabelle who was giggling in Charlie's arms. She smiled at the tender moment, thinking how the red pixie girl looked more like a child holding a too-large teddy bear than the godmother of the baby girl whose parents had been legendary front liners. MJ exhaled and turned back to her make-shift desk. A map of New York had been carefully carved into the large slab of concrete before her. Various little colorful figures on the map indicated the teams set out to secure their immediate perimeter, the other camps in the area. Threads of various colors indicated areas that had been sifted through for resources and survivors, areas that were currently being cleared out and also areas where they still had to make some progress in. There was also information about the National Guard's progress. They tried to keep as accurate tabs as possible on that as the guard were instructed to round up the mechanoids. Whatever the government planned to do to these poor folk... it would simply not do. It was beyond the need to say that the situation was delicate. Power and technology were in ridiculously short supply and whatever means they had to produce electricity was kept strictly for the use of the medical equipment and communications and also for lights. They had several generators on hand and a few more as backup in case something went wrong. The mechanoids' only current source of sustenance was barrels of assorted liquors and whatever fuels they could spare, mostly sent from the camps set up by the Harbor area.

"Hey, MJ, I'll be going now. Wilkins's having me run an errand for him to Brooklyn 2. Something about a secure stat rep."

"We'll keep an eye on Annie for you. Just be careful and come back safe."

"Sure thing, MJ. I'll be seeing you as well, Mrs. Keats."

Charlie left the tent and the tell tale sounds of transformation were heard and shortly after the cherry red multiform changer was in the air and on her way. While the government could restrict the traffic around the set up quarantine border, there was nothing they could do to stop the air traffic within the quarantine zone itself. Considering the amount of international volunteers literally littering the quarantine zone, it would be the ultimate dick move to RESTRICT whatever ease of transport the survivors would come up with. It was an unspoken consensus that they were not to try to leave the quarantine zone. Especially the mechanoids. Rumor had it some attempts had been made and that gunshots had been heard around the border between Staten Island and Middlesex. Nothing was entirely certain but the general guidelines was to keep to the camps and away from the National Guard until they could find a proper solution to the current situation.

* * *

Transforming wasn't something that any of the mechanoids considered natural. So far the aligned camps knew only of three mechanoids who had managed to achieve this incredible feat and all three of them were capable of taking both a flight mode and a ground mode. All three mechanoids shared a common theme – they were incredibly shy and insecure in one way or another. Naturally, they had tried to explain their ability to change shape into some sort of transportation – for example Charlotte (Charlie's full name) took the form of a relatively small helicopter and also some sort of ATV, again of an unknown brand. Some mechanoids' armor was easily discernible, for example Jake, who was covered and was generally made out of Ambulance parts. Then there were mechanoids like MJ, whose form suggested some sort of generalized ground vehicle, but she had yet to figure out how to trigger the transformation.

* * *

The UN had finally decided to butt into the situation, not that they didn't take their sweet time doing it. Relief flooded them all as the quarantine was lifted. Finally something was happening other than waiting for an unknown fate. The mechanoids would be moved to a secure but open area where they could learn to deal with their bodies without fear of unexpected consequences. Some medias likened this decision to creating a zoo for mechanical people, others showed their open support for the idea while a third contingent were resolute in watching the situation carefully lest this _Commune_ turned into a concentration camp.

People were apprehensive, but these metal titans were still the same people from before the change, more or less. Interviews were given. MJ herself had given several, considering she was one of the war heroes. It was from the reporter that interviewed her that she found out that the Johnsons had survived the event and were just like her – changed. It was a sad state of affairs, she reflected, as she had found out from the media and not from their established line of communication about this. And while she had very much wanted to state so directly to the reporter, she refrained from doing so with great difficulty. Despite her desire to add more salt, it was best for all if she were to keep her acerbic opinions to herself.

Fact remained, however, that she was happy that they were alive. Apparently the National Guard had dug them out from the military facility they had been in when the Event had happened. They were already transported at this _Commune_ thing. She'd be there soon enough, she just had a few more things to wrap up before heading there herself. Her parents would accompany her. Jake would stay behind for a little while yet before heading off as well.

The Camp was abuzz with activity and for the first time since this disaster began, she could hear children's laughter and the general commotion of an every day crowd of people milling about their own business.

That night she finally allowed herself to sink to her knees and cry openly, finding relief for all of her inner turmoil.

 **The nightmare was over.**

* * *

Transportation to the Commune took a while. While there were already cleared paths for vehicles to go through, most of the mechanoids had to make do as pedestrians, carrying what little they had of terms of personal affects. Most people were arranged into convoys and the parties set out at certain hours. They had guides whose job was to get them from one check point to the other. The weather was only slightly chilly as summer was starting to turn into fall, but the sky was sunny and clear and MJ's own trek was going to happen at the best possible conditions. A makeshift bag made from tarpaulin hung loosely on her shoulder while she held her mother in her arms. Her father was further ahead in the jeep along with the guide, talking animatedly with a colleague of his that he hadn't seen in over twenty years. The world really was a small place, MJ mused.

Despite her superficial calmness, MJ felt mostly awkward, insecure and apprehensive about this whole Commune operation that was going on. The Blitz had turned her life upside down once already and now that this happened to her, she had no idea what to expect from life anymore. Her own apartment obviously lay in ruins, so there was no way she'd go back to it. Even if it hadn't been destroyed, there was no way for her to continue living in it. Her parents had done their best to salvage what personal items she had there, so at least she had a bit of solace in that.

She wondered about her friends that were already in the Commune. Harry was there and the majority of her apprehension revolved around her inevitable encounter with him. She wondered how he was holding up. The last she had seen of him was when they... Well, they hadn't parted on good terms. A reasonable amount of shouting, hysterics and crying was involved on both accounts and while she _needed_ to see him to confirm that he was ok, she was also terrified of what their encounter would entail.

She wondered if he had gotten any better after their falling out. At the point of their break up he had been partial to brooding for hours, avoiding people in general and spending hours and hours either at work or at the gym. For the most part he had been making the conscious effort to maintain his usual polite and positive appearance but over the years she had noticed his waning resolve and just how tired and lifeless he appeared at times. She knew the fallout would come sooner or later but she had been too selfish to let go of him when she had first seen the signs. Harry and Fia were more alike than she'd like to acknowledge and it was his virulent denial and his self-destructive bouts of guilt-ridden rage that sealed the deal for them. In the end she had to let him go – not for him but for her own sake. They were both strong-willed and domineering, though Harry used to be mellow and gentle in his approach, a guiding hand rather than an iron first. Their spats and violent fights had gotten to the point where she had to hide bruises so others wouldn't become aware of the nuclear fallout that was her own personal life.

Idly, she traced her neck with her free hand, remembering the tender feel of her deeply bruised flesh when he had grabbed her by the throat and bashed her several times against the wall. She had to back down then. Not because she was weak. She was far from that in fact. But both of them were trained fighters and she knew that their fights would end sooner or later with the death of one of them by the hand of the other.

And she knew that with terrifying certainty. MJ was certain that it would've been just a matter of time. Still, she held no ill feelings towards Harry. They fought not each other but rather Harry's all-devouring guilt and grief that had only continued to simmer over the years until it had finally reached a boiling point.

Had it been two years since that night? Had it really been that much time since they had last seen and talked to each other? Forget awkwardness and apprehension. She was terrified.

* * *

Charlotte traveled with her and occasionally made quiet small talk with her and her mother. Anabelle had been fussy and cranky since early morning, which wasn't surprising given how they didn't have many things at hand that Annie could actually stomach. Honey mixed with equal amounts of water and rum so far seemed the best solution to this problem but everyone could tell the little baby girl was slowly but surely wasting away. It was an uncomfortable reality that they tried to ignore in lieu of keeping said baby girl happy and distracted. Too many mecha children had died already and it was something that was talked about in hushed whispers by the adults. Children were the highest priority. The four little mecha they had in their camp were relatively healthy and a product of a far more sturdier pedigree than the average person. Anabelle herself was the child of the hardy gun slinger Tifa who had been, along with her husband, a career soldier and one of the toughest people any one of their friend group knew. Her husband, Benjamin, was a mountain of a man rivaled only by Brian in height and by none of them in terms of strength and stamina. Of the four mecha children she was also the youngest and the only one with an alternate mode that was capable of flight. Not that she could transform but the pieces of armor, as quaint and petite as they were on her largely exposed protoform, suggested that she could transform into a helicopter, one with four dainty and cute pixie rotary blades.

Because of how exposed she was to the elements, Charlie, MJ and her mother had managed to fashion her a set of simple dresses and covers. With the help of several thermal blankets, copious amounts of tarp and other assorted materials that were sturdy and pliable enough to be used for clothes, they had made her an adorable looking simple green summer dress made of tarpaulin and an absolutely mind-blowingly cute shiny silver thermal blanket jacket. They had also made her a bow of the same thermal blanket left overs that complemented her white and gold body frame.

As they were walking down the cleared path, MJ couldn't help but notice how alike Annie was to her parents – fearless, inquisitive and absolutely unshakable. And all that wrapped up along with her current crankiness and general moodiness. Charlie was on edge with the soldiers that were keeping watch along the road at certain intervals and she held Annie tightly to her own body, giving weary and apprehensive glances around her. Her four pixie wings were stiff, rigid with the tension she was riddled with, while she herself as a whole was doing her best to garner as little attention as possible. Which by the way was nigh impossible, as Annie kept making displeased baby grunts and moans, pouting and glaring at all the people around her.

She was already at the stage where she'd throw her now well loved big teddy bear and MJ found herself more often than not steering off her course and picking up said teddy bear after Annie'd throw it at a soldier or a nearby person, demanding with all that she was worth for the attention of everyone.

"You know, if you keep returning the toy to her, she'll keep throwing it."

"Yes, I have gathered as much, Mother." MJ sighed.

"It's a game to her but it's wearing all our patience thin. Don't give the toy to her when you pick it up. She'll fuss even more but she'll learn eventually not to throw the things we give her."

Despite herself, MJ smiled. She wondered if anyone would dare cause an even more potent tantrum from the little baby girl if Tifa had been still alive. The woman was a terrifying menace even when on her best behavior and every one of them knew she spoiled her baby girl rotten. They didn't know much of her days before joining the military, but they had known enough not to ask questions. She had saved herself from a life of abuse and had prospered the only way she knew how to – with sheer brute strength and iron discipline. She had commitment issues off the bat and the only reason the rest of their merry little group had even made friends with her was because of Fia and her tireless at the time cheerful disposition.

Still, they had managed to make her open up, at least to them, and they had learned from her as much as she had learned from them. One day Benjie had showed up to their meetings and he had been easily accepted into their fold. Where Tifa had been the center point between a volcano and a tornado, Benjamin had been like a steadfast mountain, calm, almost serene, with a gentle and kind approach, and a patience that no one had ever managed to even challenge. There had been love from the start, at least on his side. And he had waited patiently for her to come around and accept him, just as he was willing to accept her with all of her faults and stand-offish and domineering behavior.

MJ could see so much of both of them in their child that it hurt almost as much as it brought a smile to her face. Their loss was a terrible tragedy that would take years to recover from, if there was even such a thing as recovery, and she was still wondering how to break the news to those who had survived the event. Little Tifa and Vincent would be devastated, but at least Jonathan Senior was with them, Fia's grandfather, and he would make sure they'd be sufficiently distracted with all the things that were bound to happen at this Commune.

In contrast of the steady confidence the baby exuded, Charlie was a mess of nerves and fear. The red clad young woman had truly grown a lot from the almost completely mute and terrified little red head that had hidden in Fia's house all those years ago. She held gentleness and fragile innocence and despite how much she resembled a deer in the headlights, with her large blue glowing orbs for eyes, MJ knew that whatever was to come before them, Charlie'd be up to the challenge. After all, Tifa had taken her under her wing and practically raised her. Charlie knew how to handle an assortment of commonly used fire arms as well as how to survive in the wilderness or how to hide her presence even in a heavily monitored urban area. She had become an excellent tracker, all under Tifa's influence and she used all those acquired skills to help others in need.

They reached the first checkpoint around dusk and the night was spent staring at the open, starry sky. Everyone was silent save for the sounds of children playing and laughing. It felt good to be out of the ruins. It felt good to have trees and grass around her, the sounds of the wilderness enhanced by her now overly sensitive hearing. Door wings fluttered lightly, relaxed and at ease, allowing MJ to drown into the wildlife surrounding her, away from her immediate problems and worries. That night she slept void of any and all tensions.

She felt free.

Maybe this mechanoid thing wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

They spent three days now, waiting outside the last check point for the officials to confirm their identities. Identification was a difficult and slow process and even the presence of her parents did not alleviate the practically mandatory delay. She hated bureaucratic bullshit with a passion. Tents had been set up by all the people waiting to be processed into the Commune. It was an experience looking through the majority of the mecha present. There were children and adults alike, looking various states of ragged and worn, just like herself and her companions. Mostly people were resigned with the waiting, though some were pacing back and forth, some were complaining with the inadequate handling of the situations. Others spent their time talking in between their small cliques. MJ could see some people that she could recognize from other nearby camps and some even waved at her. There were helicopters flying overhead back and forth in a continuous, noisy commotion. None of these helicopters were transformed mecha, but rather rescue teams that kept bringing in injured people.

Not too far away MJ could hear trains approaching and leaving, bringing in even more people at a steady pace. Further on in the distance, if MJ tip toed, she could see what would be the beginnings of various construction sites within the Commune, way up there ahead, across the sea of metal heads and tents and even further so, through the set up, well guarded gate ways. According to the released statement, that would be her home in the foreseeable future.

* * *

Today MJ and her group saw a shuttle mecha for the first time. Holy _fucking_ shit, they came in this size too!?

* * *

Identification took a total of five days. In the mean time it had become apparent that the majority of the Mecha, dead or alive, were female. Theories were already running rampant as to why that was so. There were several pro-feminist demonstrations organized all over the world, while scientists battled wits about the biological consequence of having such a drastic difference in numbers between males and females. Rumors had it the Event was most likely a deliberate alien attack.

That night MJ slept for the first time on the closest thing she had to a bed in two months. It was a simple cot with a thermal blanket suitable for her size, but it was enough. She shared accommodations with Charlie, Annabelle and her parents. Sleep was restless just as it had been for the last few days, given the non stop commotion.

* * *

Morning came with a fight breaking out between two male mecha over something trivial that MJ didn't quite catch. The resulting cacophony was drowned out by gunshots that only caused more panic and little to no actual damage. A large brown flier type mecha showed up and swiftly put the two fighting mecha in their place. MJ recognized him instantly when he spoke. It was Brian.

* * *

Security around Fia's room had been tighter than the Pentagon. Apparently the Commune itself was built over a far larger underground military complex that was currently being used both as a hospital and a brig. The lowest levels were off limits to nearly anyone, save for those who had the clearance, like Jonathan Johnson Senior. He lead her silently to his granddaughter, who seemed to be peacefully sleeping all the while surrounded by a majority of equipment that monitored pretty much anything anyone could think off about her.

MJ approached silently, reverently almost, afraid and perhaps even somewhat disbelieving. This was Fia alright. She knew that heart shaped face and those thick lips, not to mention her large almond-shaped eyes.

Fiona was more than twice her size, which later on brought some amusement, considering MJ had always been the taller of the two before all of this happened. She was heavily armored, adorned with an ornate set of plates all over her body, leaving very little actual exposed protoform. Her wings were quite unlike anything she had seen up to this point, providing an absolutely exquisite and terrifying display of sharp bladed tips and turbines.

"How long has she been like this?" MJ finally found her voice to ask.

"We don't know, we found her like this and she has been completely unresponsive the entire time."

"How... how can you be sure that this-"

"That this is my little girl?"

MJ nodded, not really capable to voice anything any further, given how constricted her throat felt at this point.

" You've seen Brian, Al and Wolf. They have the same... frame type, shall we say. That and the signal we detected from Luna Base corresponded with the signal we received from the epicenter of the disaster." It was left unsaid that that was the place that they had found her.

MJ turned sharply towards Jonathan Senior.

"What are you saying, sir!?"

"Whatever caused all of this, Michelle, my little girl was at the thick of it, for good or bad."

* * *

One of the things all of them were required to do in the Commune was to put whatever skills they had to work, thus creating a healthy, productive community where at least some sense of normalcy would be restored. MJ was supposed to have an evaluation in twelve minutes but she just couldn't be bothered to move from her spot. Not yet at least.

Fia lay there on the berth, her wings tucked in close to her body and she herself looking peaceful and relaxed. It was the stillness that bothered her the most. It was the one thing that terrified her, even. Even when sleeping, Fia could never stay still. She always tossed and turned, sometimes moaned and mumbled, kicked and pushed. She should know, they've had enough sleep overs. And now, seeing her this still was just wrong. It was an indicator that this was real, that something was wrong with her friend. She hoped Fia would wake up if only to make heads and tails of this entire situation. If her grandfather was right, if Fia was truly to blame... No, she couldn't accept this. She just couldn't.

"Hey."

MJ's breath hitched and she felt herself freeze for a second. She forced herself to calm and greeted him in turn, without turning to look at him.

"Hey, Harry." She was surprised her voice didn't break.

"Whatever happened, it wasn't... it couldn't have been her fault."

Harry sat down next to her on the floor. With her peripheral vision she could partially see his black armor and what seemed to be wings. So the Johnsons were all fliers. He seemed relaxed but his movements were deliberately slow and careful around her. Perhaps he had been just as apprehensive about this meeting as she was?

For a while they were both quiet, sharing a silent vigil over their precious person.

"What I did to you wasn't right." He finally stated quietly, his voice no more than a faint whisper. "And I am sorry."

He stood up, ready for a swift retreat but she grabbed his arm, stopping him, for the first time in two years actually looking at him.

"What you did... that wasn't you, Harry. Now sit back down." Her hands were trembling and he could probably feel it too. He said nothing as he sat back down next to her. They were both silent: she, because she was wondering what to say exactly, and he, because he was dreadfully waiting for her verdict. It was a heavy silence.

"In the past two years I had... time to think. About... about us, about what went wrong and about what we did or didn't do to prevent... things." She struggled to find her words, not for a lack of them, but for the difficulty she had expressing what had been heavily laying on both her heart and mind. "And I've never really blamed you for what happened. I want you to know that. I've... I've realized that I wanted something of you that you could no longer give and... I was selfish to think that things would get better in a while. I should've helped you and instead I just pushed you further down. And... what I am trying to say is, Harry... I want you to know that I am sorry too."

MJ was still holding onto his arm, her grip tightened and she tried to force down the tears that threatened to spill. He freed his arm from her and wrapped it around her form, holding her tightly as they both silently wept. Things would never be back to what they used to be, but at least they had their friendship. They owed it to themselves to try and salvage at least that.

The evening found them in the cafeteria talking about small things, catching up on the two years that they had missed out on.

"I went to get help, you know." he said. " Professional help. I've been getting therapy twice a week and it's been helping. Now with all of this going on, I don't even know if my shrink is even still alive. Crazy, huh?"

"Yeah. Crazy." she agreed.

At least things with Harry were now well. They would pull through. All of them.

* * *

She'd been in the Commune for nearly a week now and things were obviously not going exactly as planned. After her evaluation she had to go and fill up some documents so that a new ID would be created for her, given her new physical status. Compared to others, her induction into the ranks of the working folk of the Commune had been rather swift. Doctors were a scarce commodity, specifically doctors of the mecha variety. Despite the lack of resources for such a thing from the government, the community itself had already set up several workshops in order to integrate medical knowledge with that of mechanics and engineers. As similar as the physiology of the mechanoids was to that of organic humans, there were just too many discrepancies to have a mere doctor safely operate on a mecha patient.

For starters, normal scalpels do not work on the metal alloys that made up the various organs and what not of the mechanoids. Industrial grade laser cutters had to be used, welders instead of needles and surgical threads to seal up wounds. One of the first things all of them had learned even during the first two months was that infections took the form of rust and brittle, flaking metal. Discolored, dark blotches indicated a mechanoid version of ischemia... there were just so many little things that were quickly organized to be studied and overcome that just thinking about it made MJ's head spin.

Luckily Jake had shown up in the nick of time, providing an equally dedicated and sharp mind to tackle the tons of information along with their small team of overworked medics, engineers and mechanics. They had good teamwork, seeing as they had spent two months together, creating a reasonably safe haven for the desperate survivors of the Event.

Mornings were spent with the mandatory visitations in the now nearly complete mechanoid-sized clinic. New patients were constantly pouring in but there was also no small supply of volunteers to take care of the small, menial tasks that helped the professionals by freeing time for the more important and difficult tasks. Lunch breaks were short and hectic and the afternoons were divided between research and checking up on Fia who seemed to be just as despondent to the world around her as she had been upon her discovery.

Everyday started with the rising hope that she might see more familiar faces and most of the time MJ had to swallow the bitterness and grief that at times threatened to overcome her. She did not have time for this and she carried on with her now set routine. By the times nights rolled in she was tired enough to sleep dreamlessly. She was thankful at least for this reprieve.

It was by the end of the first month that she saw someone that she had never expected to see. A tall, slender female mecha with that oh so distinct vibrant deep orange-red coloration and stormy gray glowing optics – also incredibly distinct and rare. She recognized the face almost immediately and the mechanoid child clinging to her just sealed the deal for her.

It was Rose.

Her heart-spark skipped a beat. She was happy to see Rose, despite everything. But it was an uneasy, bittersweet happiness. In the end, Leo had chosen Rose, ruthlessly discarding Fiona's feeling and when Ori had been born it had been her parents who had insisted that he'd take care of the child, given that Fia lived with MJ's family with no actual income of her own. Leo had won custody of their child and Fia had carried on, despite everything and despite herself, pretending that she was ok and that things would eventually settle.

In the end, MJ had realized long ago, all of this hadn't been Leo's choice, but rather Fia's. It hadn't been Leo's choice of Rose, but rather Fia's choice to support Rose's happiness, rather than her own. It was an oddly mature thing for Fia to do and yet, it was also very characteristic of her. She had desired nothing more than to keep her precious people safe, and MJ knew that even now, no matter how much it hurt, Fia still thought of Rose as a friend.

It was with that thought, with the thought of their once close friendship, that MJ approached her.

* * *

Rose was a tall flier mechanoid. She was all fluent shapes and noble elegance, almost uniformly dowsed in that vibrant orange-red color which gleamed in the daylight, carrying a well tended healthy sheen and the absolute lack of any sort of scratches. Her pair of wings were held high and were completely still and relaxed. Along with that familiar calm, set expression, MJ knew that this confidence and coolness she exhibited was superficial.

Another thing that set Rose apart from most of the mecha MJ had seen thus far was her lack of helm. What she had seemed like metal locks of sleeked back hair, that resembled the feathery head of a bird of prey, like an eagle or a falcon. Her head was also adorned with what seemed to be a very delicately and elegantly structured elven-like crown of a very pale yellow golden color. A pattern similar to the crown's design could be seen bordering most of her armor plates and MJ could not help but wonder if those were modifications that she had gotten or if her change had brought this design about.

The medic quickly glanced toward what she was certain was Rose's ten year old daughter. The slip of a girl was also a flier type, though of a different design than that of her mother's. She was of a rosy gold coloration, again with a healthy, vibrant sheen and not a single scratch seen anywhere. It was a very pleasant sight for MJ. It meant that at least one child was taken care of properly and she made a note to herself to ask Rose about her daughter's diet.

Similar to Rose, the girl did not have a full helmet, but rather a crown of sorts. Hers seemed a lot more "dwarven" in design, with similar patterns bordering most of her armor plates. Her hair-like protrusions were a lot less spiky than her mother's but were of a similar "hair-style". Their color was of a very dark rosy-gold that eerily reminded her of Leo's dark auburn-red locks.. Her eyes were like her mother's – stormy gray.

"Her name is Lilly, after my great grandmother." Rose supplied conversationally.

MJ nodded. She knew that, but not through any official sources. She smiled gently at the girl.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lilly. My name is Doctor Michelle Jessica Keats, but almost everyone calls me MJ. You can also call me MJ, if you want." She even winked playfully at the girl, taking cue from Fia, from happier days that seemed a lifetime ago. She offered her hand for the child to shake, bowing slightly to be closer to her height.

Lilly smiled shyly and giggled quietly, taking the offered hand. And like that the ice broke between the two adults. They spent the afternoon together, talking about the old days, reminiscing about their crazy shenanigans, catching up on the ten years they had spent apart... and, despite everything, it was alright. Rose had both changed a lot and very little. It was a sobering thought. They were no longer carrying that spark of naiveté that characterized youth. They had grown up, perhaps not in the best of ways, but still – they had grown up. All of them. All of those who were still alive.

And for what it was worth, in the face of everything that had happened to the world thus far, their squabbles seemed petty and insignificant in comparison. These were trying times and she was willing to get through them with all of her friends, even the enstranged ones.

* * *

By the time late afternoon had rolled around Rose, MJ and Lilly were no longer by themselves. Charlie and Annabelle had joined them as well, providing Lilly with a playmate to distract her from the serious topics of the grown-ups' discussion.

Rose's story of the Change was little to no different to most of the refugees in the Commune. Her boyfriend of seven years had perished and she had been, just like the rest of them, stranded and desperate to provide for her daughter. Like MJ, she had made contact with her parents at first possible opportunity and with their wide-spread connections, had managed to provide transport for her and her daughter out of the quarantine zone. What had followed involved the best specialists money could buy in order to find suitable sustenance for them. Her exquisite frame design turned out to be genetic. Compared to the average mecha, her frame was lighter, and her armor was a cosmetic gimmick at best. Later on, once the Mechanoid Classification Act became fact, she'd be classified in the very rare, very light category of fliers known as F12. Given her size, which reached slightly below Fia's shoulders, being F12 was an extraordinary achievement.

In short, should any sort of emergency or military situation arise, Rose would be completely useless on the battlefield. Rose Logan (nee Romano) was a political savvy, intelligent and charismatic. She was also a very skilled lawyer from a long line of lawyers.

MJ had very little allusions as to why Rose was present at the Commune. Given her family's influence she could've easily stayed away from all of this hassle and could've happily remained along with her daughter in the comfort of her own family's home. To forgo all of that and go as far as to bring your own child into this environment spoke of a far deeper, ulterior motive that made MJ's gears turning.

What would make anyone risk their own child to come all the way here?

What was Rose's plan?

After all these years of isolation from them all, what made her change her mind and actually seek them out (Rose could not possibly go all the way to the Commune WITHOUT even trying to look for the people that she was once close friends with)?

* * *

It was Helen Woodsworth's appearance that solved the mystery behind Rose's presence. Their reunion had been an amicable one, though slightly reluctant. Helen was a ground model, much like MJ herself, and her frame was a shiny pitch-black that accentuated her pearly white face and light blue (almost pale purple, really) optics. Like MJ, her frame was scratched and slightly dusty. Unlike MJ's frame model, though, she lacked the sensitive door wings and instead was adorned with a long and thin crest that arched backwards slightly. It was a silvery color. Later on, when the hassle around the Commune would finally settle, both she and her sister, like many others, would paint themselves a different color, more suitable to their tastes.

Once Rose and Lilly had gone to their own residence, Helen had immediately turned to them with her revelation.

"Rose is aiming for political support. Why exactly and for what purposes is beyond me for now." she stated calmly, sipping at her cup with all the poise a British lady could muster.

"It is... unlike her to try and gain support through us. In all honesty I believe she should've stayed away from all of this, at least for her daughter's benefit." MJ said, a delicate scowl already marring her brows.

"She brought her girl for a reason. She is trying to reach out to us, and using her daughter for that purpose is-"

"Logical, but also extremely out of character. If Harry or Mr. Johnson had seen her..." MJ did not finish her sentence. It would've gotten awkward, to say the least. Harry and Rose haven't seen each other since _that_ day and she doubted Rose would've wanted her daughter to play nice in any way with her father's murderer.

"Perhaps it is prudent to speak with Mr. Johnson about this. If there is anyone who could make heads or tails of this situation, it would be the Patriarch of the family." Helen finally suggested.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Charlotte finally spoke.

"What if she just wants to show support to those in less privileged conditions? Maybe she wants to help?"

"Perhaps, but that would hardly be all Rose'd be up to. It is her we are talking about.

* * *

The coming days proved that Rose's appearance was the herald to more turbulence and that they, the mechanoids, were hardly out of the proverbial woods. Gossips and rumors ran wild but it was all mostly hushed and swept under the rug almost immediately. Word had reached the general populace that Fiona was no longer present on the Moon within the Dreadnought Valkyrie Ascended. Somehow information had leaked out that their Poster Girl was currently lying unconscious in the depths of the underground facility around and above which the Commune was built.

Chills ran down MJ's back struts and door wings every time she caught wind of whispers that were less and less favorable towards her best friend. She knew something had to be done before any chance to save her could be squashed by an angry mob bearing pitchforks and torches. The people needed a villain, needed someone to take blame for this tragedy. Fingers were being pointed everywhere and nowadays more and more of said fingers were slowly but surely turning towards the Princess that Broke the Dawn.

Johnson Sr. was no less worried than herself and each passing day she found him more and more tense. His grandsons were in no better shape. She'd seen Helen speak with him on several occasions. For the most part they were all overwhelmed with work.

Finally, the whispers and the uncertainty had become too much and too many.

"Why are you here?"

Those were her first words as soon as she had found Rose. The red flier had been in the process of polishing her daughter's vibrant rose gold wings. For a few moments, it seemed as if Rose hadn't even noticed MJ was there, but the medic knew that she was mulling over how to answer.

"I'm here to make right by someone who I've wronged and never really had the chance to... to fix things."

"That bridge burned down long ago and you know it, Rose."

Rose sighed and put away the polishing rag.

"Lilly, my sweet, could you please go out and play with some of the other children? I have some serious things to discuss with MJ."

The girl silently nodded and left their room with a skip in her step. She liked having friends that were her new size.

"I'm not looking to fix my friendship with Fiona. Even I know that's impossible after everything that happened. However, you and I both know that she did right by me, and even though it might be too late now, I will do everything in my power to do right by her."

"How did you even know to look for her here?"

"Father has inside men. When word came that she might be connected to...to what had happened at New York, I knew that I had to come here immediately to help in any way I can."

"And you tell me this now." MJ accused, her eyes narrowing dangerously and her hands balling into tight fists.

"If I had come directly to you with all of this, would you have listened, Michael?"

"No. I wouldn't have." the medic answered honestly, surprising herself.

Honesty. At least they still had that between each other.

"We have a very small window of opportunity before things go sour. And I have an idea just how to use it." Rose said, a very familiar ambitious glint appearing in her eyes.

* * *

In the end, their little gamble had paid off. As far as she was concerned, only Helen, Hanna and Charlie were aware of Rose's involvement in all of this.

Rose had done right by Fiona, even though Fiona would probably never know that it had been thanks to her that she was still alive. She didn't need to know. It was enough that she had been there in her greatest time of need. It would be several more months before Fiona would wake to a world that was different that the one she had left behind.

 _ **A/N: This has been written and re-written so many times and to be perfectly honest it still isn't finished. This is like 5 or so chapters put together and I've deleted and changed so many things that I've lost count. I had a lot of problems writing some scenes because I wanted the characters to react in certain ways, particularly in Ironhide, Jazz and Prowl's scenes. Prowl is easy because he is so methodical, Jazz was fun but Ironhide was hard to portray and you can tell that I haven't really written much about him. But I am trying. I wanted to add a few more things before posting the chapter but four months have passed, even more, since I last updated, so I think it's best for me to post what I have right now. I think the whole interlude shows just how many different things have passed through my mind while writing this. I literally had a writer's block when dealing with Prowl and MJ interacting together, because they are finicky like that. And then the whole First Contact thing with Jazz that I am still figuring out. I am trying to see what kind of consequences Jazz' actions will have in the future and how it will affect all the little plot-lines that involve him in one way or another.**_

 _ **On another note, I am trying to make the Cybertronian culture really conservative and private about things like relationships and sex, which I use as a sort of explanation to the total or near total lack of romance in the series and the whole sorta PG rating about it all.**_

 _ **And I still haven't gotten to the Decepticons! And yes, there will be Decepticons soon enough. I've already set the main antagonist to the first "book/arc" in this story and that is Overlord. The other confirmed Decepticons are Thundercracker, Skywarp, Slipstream and Barricade. And lots of Purple Stormtroopers (cough the Steves cough). I also have settled a few more reference gems here and there within the next chapters. The one I am sharing is this- the ship the Decepticons are using as their base of operations is called the Darksyde. Beast Wars fans rejoice :D**_

 _ **For the asterix thing- Stanton's medical paste was inspired by a spray used by my Vet for a small wound on my late cat to prevent her from licking it all the time. Its not a real thing.**_

 _ **I am looking forward to your reviews guys, because I really need some brain storming about what I am going to do with the Autobots, particularly Jazz and his ability to cause trouble whenever he goes, being a natural troll and all, hehe!**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: I actually had things missing from chapter eleven mostly because my PC died several times while writing the various bits, courtesy of the sensitive charger cable and having three cats that love to sleep on the lap top. Also, I cant believe all the breaks are missing from chapter 11... I will most likely have to reupload …**_

 _ **EDIT: -added linebreaks to chapter eleven.**_

 _ **-removed Herobrine**_

Chapter Twelve

 _[With Ironhide, the Viking boys, Anatoli, Harry and Skylar]_

Fights are always messy, especially when the most you've done in the last seventeen years were drills and the occasional spars. Sometimes, in the heat of battle, things could easily be missed. When Sky literally flew into Brian and transformed mid-landing, they immediately realized something must've gone horribly wrong. His facial expression was equally distributed between rage and worry. His eyes landed on the alien mecha whose cannons had been the obvious culprit for this avalanche. His eyes were cold, furious blue embers and with one swift motion he had the red alien mecha in the air by his neck, one powerful hand just barely restraining itself from crushing the neck struts.

" _DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!?"_ Skylar roared in his face speaking in the strange alien language. There was no need for translation. All of the present mecha immediately jumped in to stop him.

"Sky, the plan was mine, let the man go! What's going on!?" Anatoli cried out, alarmed at the level of violence Skylar was showing.

The efforts of three seeker brothers and one Anatoli were not enough to even budge the rock solid frame of Skylar. He was like a raging elephant bull in a kindergarten and there was nothing any of them could physically do.

For a split second they thought he was going to crush the alien's neck but suddenly Sky just threw him to the side with a force not unlike a freight train in motion. The mecha hit the rock slope with a painful grunt and fell to the ground, hacking and coughing, wheezing to get his bearings back. Albert rushed to him immediately, while Brian and Wolf were trying to reason with the livid shuttle mecha who seemed hellbent on dishing out wrathful retribution upon the Russian.

"Michelle is out there in the snow! We have to find her ASAP!"

" _Ye -_ cough- _ye speak our language?"_ the red alien mecha rasped out. Albert was supporting him, keeping him standing. Thing was, during the entire skirmish, none of them had taken as much damage (maybe save for Harry) as what Sky had just dished out upon the alien mecha with a single throw.

Sky had always been a very peaceful and friendly guy, but he was also fiercely overprotective of MJ. He had even listed her as next of kin should anything happen to him. After all this time, he had never had anything stir his memory as to who he was before the Event. Not until they had gone on this God-forsaken frozen little world and all that shit just hit the fan. And now MJ was missing, possibly severely injured...maybe even dead. No... Albert shook off these thoughts. Toli did the right thing and indeed in the heat of battle none of them had noticed that some of the purple enemies were getting picked off one by one by an unknown assailant. Sky knew that as well, Al was sure, but there was just so much going on right now for him, perhaps even too much.

Sky was one of the team. But he was also one of the aliens, given how he knew their language. It was something to dwell on later, however. Right now, Al had to do immediate damage control and get to their medic as fast as possible. Unlike them, Sky was not a trained soldier. True, he had participated in all the drills that were required as part of the Fleet program. But drills did not make up for the specialized training all military personnel went through in order to be prepared for situations such as this.

"Stand down Skylar!" he ordered, voice unwavering and strong. His wings were rigid and flared out, posture aggressive and taut, ready to react to any and all threats. "We are in enemy territory right now, we cannot afford to fight among ourselves! We had no idea Jungler was offering her support but we will do our best to find her immediately. Look at me when I talk to you, Skylar! We need Toli to help us find MJ, do you understand me?"

"I repeat myself, Skylar. Do you understand me?"

The shuttle turned his gaze toward Albert, not breaking eye contact for several moments. Finally, his rage relented and he sunk to his knees, waves of worry, grief and despair rolling off of him. He keened quietly, wings lax and low, his massive shoulders hunched. The three seeker brothers were immediately at his side, instinctively recognizing the keen for what it was – a cry for comfort.

In the mean time Anatoli stood perfectly still and as inaggressive as he could manage. To say he had not been terrified of the prospect of becoming a little pile of Toli pulp would be a lie. A lesser man would've shat himself. Thankfully, the Russian was not a lesser man and Toli made note to A) never anger a shuttle with a serious big brother overprotective streak and B) to get himself a keg of tequila as soon as he was off duty and on board his ship, possibly with C) a nice pretty mecha lady to keep him company for the night.

Ironhide just stood there, taking in the entire spectacle and trying to wrap around his processor what just happened. First he meets up with these neutrals (he classifies them as such, since they were obviously not Autobots or Decepticons), then they don't speak Neo-Cybex or any other Cybertronian dialect, including their supposedly native Vosian. Then, crazy heavily armored grounder mech appears and lays waste to the battlefield with a smile on his face.

And THEN, this shuttle mech flies in and nearly crushes his neck struts, AND he also knows some form of Cybertronian language. Honestly, Ironhide had had quite enough for today.

" _Ah-rite, what the Pit's goin' on 'ere? Ah thought ye mechs din' know no Cybex and lo and behold you have a mech that does actually know some form Cybex. Start talkin' 'cus ah ain't in no mood teh deal with this no good pile o' slag!"_

Sky turned towards Ironhide, looking as if he just realized he was there. His eyes widened as he stared at the damage he had caused to this mecha's neck.

" _I-I am sorry for what happened. Nothing can excuse my behavior. I-I...we-we don't have time for this now. I swear I will explain everything to the best of my ability as soon as I can. Right now we need to save MJ. She's... she's my **kin.**_ "

Oh, for the love of Primus, fliers and their flier language within a language! Still, Ironhide resisted the urge to roll his optics (he had a certain intolerance for fliers, after all) and focused on what was important – saving the femme that was in trouble. What a day, indeed. Here he was with a bunch of Seekers and a Shuttle, along with a grounder front-liner and himself. It would be quite the story once all of this was done and over with.

" _Listen, ah got this thing 'ere that shows any spark signatures at a certain distance. If ya fly low enough maybe ah can detect yer lady friend and we can get 'er outta teh snow in no time."_

 _"I-I... I thank you-"_

 _"Name's Ironhide, kid. Now git a move on, we're wastin time!"_

Sky nodded and transformed swiftly into his much larger shuttle form. His companions were just as swift. Anatoli and Albert helped Harry's still unconscious form get inside the shuttle and Ironhide also got aboard with them, curiously eying the shuttle's interior. It was different than what he was used to seeing inside any sort of transportation. True, it had been a very long time since he had last actually seen a living shuttle, let alone a friendly one, but it was still different. Everything about it was distinctly not-Cybertronian. There were compartments and things to which he could not put a label straight away. There were also seats that were suited for someone of the size of a minicon. Some things looked just too foreign while others were primitive in construction. The interior was an amalgamation of contradictions that was threatening to give the old soldier Autobot a processor ache should he dwell on it too much.

Anatoli and Albert expertly strapped Harry to one of the benches and then attached the IV to what seemed to be some in-built medical equipment. Al quickly checked the drip of the Calorium IV system and then checked the vitals displayed on the various monitors. Finally, he sat down, slumping his shoulders and looking decidedly exhausted.

Anatoli didn't waste anytime opening one of the compartments and pulling out what seemed to be some sort of large canteen and several metal cups. He then walked over to the oldest of the seeker brothers and handed him one of the cups, quickly filling it with some sort of clear liquid.

"You look like you could do with some moral support. From Russia with love, brat. Courtesy of my father."

Toli then turned towards Ironhide, who had been watching the exchange from his spot and he poured some more of the liquid in a second cup. The Russian moved in front of the alien mecha and stared him down with an intense, serious expression.

He presented him the cup and Ironhide made to take it from him. Before Toli let go, however, he had to make sure of just one thing.

"Vodka. Vod-ka." he said slowly and clearly.

Ironhide blinked and then looked down at the cup. He stared. Anatoli stared back. After a moment or so, Ironhide finally spoke up.

"Vodka." he said slowly, as if reluctantly trying the word, doing his best to pronounce it properly. It wasn't a complicated word, after all.

"Ha! Now we make friends!" Anatoli let go of the cup and filled up one of his own. He raised a toast and swallowed the contents in a single gulp. Ironhide copied the gesture and then took a careful sip. "Eh? Eh? Not bad, right? Vodka good! Russian vodka- best vodka!"

Ironhide nodded to whatever Toli was saying. This Vodka thing tasted nothing like Energon but he could feel his systems already processing it with ease and warming him up oh so slightly. It was better than what he has had for a very long time now and he appreciated the gesture. He nodded with a small smile, saying something in Neo-cybex, something along the lines of gratitude. It felt nice to be among friendly faces, even if said faces belonged to brand new friends.

"See that Frio? Red likes Vodka. We're making friends even! Don't worry about MJ! We will find our девушка in no time and she will beat me up and threaten to weld my guns up my ass! Just like the good old days! Everything will be alright,Sky, I can feel it in my belly!"

"I hope you are right, Toli. For her sake. And for yours." Sky said simply over the speakers and took off. Brian and Wolf had already transformed and flew in a close formation to the shuttle's frame.

Conversation was little and to the point. Sky spoke only when Ironhide wanted to say something, and tried to focus on his task of scoaring the area for their lost medic. With Anatoli's detailed map of the region and with Ironhide's tracking apparatus, the group hoped they'd be able to find her before it was too late... or before the enemy found her.

Night had nearly fallen upon them when they found their first sign of MJ.

"Over there! That's her visor! It must've gotten knocked off." Albert dropped off of Skylar's still airborn form and used a little thruster power to kill his descent and land softly on the ground. The snow was already starting to pack tightly, given the dropping temperatures come nightfall."It's in pretty bad shape. She'll have to replace it completely." Al grimaced. He hoped MJ was alright.

Further on ahead Anatoli's scanners detected another object, long and narrow and made of metal. Unlike MJ's visor, this object was quite a few meters deep into the packed snow. That wasn't a problem, though. Skylar had many things in his compartments. Some of them were supplies. Others were just random knick-knacks. And third were weapons. Like Dawnbreaker's lovely custom flamethrower. It took a small while to get the contraption assembled and to synchronize it with the closest resembling systems, namely Brian's, but the flamethrower, affectionately named Kermit Buster, did its job within mere seconds.

The item in question was a staff. And it belonged to none of the Forward Team.

" _Blow it all to the Pit! That's Prowl's walking stick! What in the name o' Unicrawn's rust bitten aft is 'e doin' outside!? He's already in a bad way! We gotta find Prowl, he ain't gonna survive the night like this!"_

And thus the timer continued ticking on not for one, but for two lost comrades. An hour later found them putting away MJ's slightly scruffed sniper rifle. Nightfall was upon them, and there was still no actual sign of the two missing mecha.

* * *

This was as good as this mecha would get in the current conditions, MJ had finally decided as she was rummaging through her bag for anything that might help out their situation. Despite the whiteness of the surrounding snow, she could see that light was slowly beginning to fade, marking the nightfall that was upon them. The air was becoming colder, and she could feel small amounts of frost building up on her most external armor plates, like her sleek shoulder pads. That wasn't good. Larger frames like Toli's or Fiona's were build to withstand very cold climates. Toli, because he was a Russian, born and raised in the unforgiving cold weather of Siberia. Fiona... well, she actually had problems expunging all that heat she produced, which usually damaged her joints especially after vigorous spars. MJ was still in the process of figuring out how to counter that kind of wear.

But back to the topic at hand: smaller frames like the sports car, scout types, the all-terrain tracker types, the two wheelers and the smaller flier types – all of these types of mecha were small in comparison to the average and had a lot harder time retaining heat, especially in cold climates.

Given that Jungler and her current companion were pretty much of the same type and relatively of the same size, she figured that they had roughly the same amount of time before the energy consumption went to critical levels and they shut down into a sleep-like state that in this kind of weather would mean their deaths. She didn't really have many things that would help her stave off the freezing cold but she did have three thermal blankets that were big enough to cover for Brian's size. And if she placed one of the blankets underneath them and used the other two to cover themselves with them, maybe they'd buy themselves several hours at the least. Skylar should be already actively searching for her, she was certain.

* * *

Prowl reacted first to the very subtle hum of engines that was still quite a ways away from their location. He was far more attuned to catching any wayward sounds than the femme was, given his lack of sight and the tuning he had underwent in order to boost his audial receptors. The hum was not so much foreign to him as much as highly improbable to be present here. The Decepticons stationed here did not have a shuttle. That left him with only one logical option.

"Femme. It seems that your friends are looking for you."

"Hm?"

Prowl repressed the urge to be annoyed with their language barrier and merely pointed at his audials, hoping she'd get the gist of it and listen more carefully. He heard her frame still for a second and he could practically imagine her posture, what with the very soft sound of her door wings perking up to help her better perceive her surroundings.

" _That...that must be Sky. Good. We have a way out of this wretched frozen hellhole yet!"_

* * *

It was barely within her parameters to even acknowledge the sound but it was there, no matter how faint. MJ looked at the alien mecha and pursed her lips. She may have a broken ankle joint which hurt like hell, even with whatever treatment she had administered on herself, but he was missing an arm, thus making him more unsuitable for what was to come next – digging themselves out. So, instead of getting a headache from just explaining to him what to do, she just went to do the job by herself.

For her metal fingers, the freshly packed avalanche snow was little to no trouble. She was cold and uncomfortable, true, but that did not mean she could be deterred, even if digging by hand would take her a while.

Her companion, despite not being able to see, quickly managed to deduce what she was doing and got up himself to help almost immediately the moment she started to dig. Naturally, Jungler would have none of it.

"No." she stated with a no-nonsense attitude, pushing him back down into a sitting position. Then he made a face, which did not need a language barrier to stop her from deducing a well-placed and probably a well-deserved scoff. He then made a move to stand up again, only to be met with the same results.

"No!" she repeated sternly, as if scolding a pet cat, which, by the way, yielded the same results as scolding an actual pet cat. The scoff now had the added bonus of an attempt at reasoning with her in a logical manner, albeit in an alien language that she did not understand. Well, the not understanding part was a mere technicality at this point, seeing as both of them were perfectly aware what they were arguing about and what the other was saying.

She pretended to listen for a minute to his, ahem, calm but stern attempt to let her see reason, after which she pushed him back down to sit. At this point this was really the most she could let him do. Her pride couldn't decide which was worse – the fact that he was letting her have the courtesy of manhandling him for whatever reason – OR the fact that not only did he kick her ass thoroughly and then saved her with comical ease, but he was also blind and one armed, heavily malnourished and possibly tortured relatively recently.

All in all, as Fia would say, fuck this shit, this is bullshit and I don't want to deal with this anymore, so just fuck it. Truthfully, the situation wasn't really all that FUBAR, but the thought alone of how she'd have to report the whole thing and thus give Fia actual ammunition to RIB HER of all people for possibly months to come...

No.

Just no.

That will not happen and she would NOT allow it to happen and if he'd KINDLY sit the fuck down so she could just do a good job all on her own to make her report at least have one part in which she wasn't a useless damsel in distress... Yes. Well. That would be lovely and all kinds of swell, thank you very much!

At some point the alien mecha seemingly gave up on trying to reason with her, possibly deciding that anything was better than her treatment of him in the same manner that a busy grown up would treat a petulant child. So he settled with sitting calmly nearby, visibly tense, but otherwise seemingly unflappable and with a cool expression on his face. He didn't even turn towards her for any reason at all, which, in the language of the unflappably cool translated to something very akin to sulking.

MJ resisted the urge to snort triumphantly at her complete victory of the situation. She also let a small smirk play on her lips, perfectly aware he wouldn't be able to see it and continued digging their way out with renewed vigor.

* * *

Prowl was 97.3 percent sure that this whole thing was Jazz being Jazz all over again. Except this wasn't Jazz but some femme that didn't speak Neo-Cybex (or any form of Cybertronian for that manner) and the last time he had contact with any femmes at all outside of battle was...actually, when was the last time he had any social contact with a femme that didn't involve any sort of workplace protocol?

His processor immediately reproduced the memory of the femme's thighs squeezing him for dear life not too long ago and only his eons of training and self-discipline stopped him from activating his cooling systems, which, given the current situation would immediately turn said femme's full attentions to him and he'd probably die of the mortification alone.

He gritted his denta and applied any and all meditative techniques he knew not to drown in the smugness she had been and still is so shamelessly exuding. With a quiet prayer to Primus, Prowl hoped that they'd be out of this little Pit hole soon enough.

With Jazz... he couldn't handle Jazz well even on his best days, let alone in his current condition. But Jazz wasn't cruel and he knew Prowl's relatively small and constricted limits so at least he didn't push him too much out of his comfort zone. And for the most part Prowl tried to treat the Jazz phenomenon as a form of conditioning training for other less considerate but just as annoying folk (those would be the T.W.I.N.S. and yes, Prowl never referred to THEM by the actual word, even in his head, lest the thought summoned said demons. Ugh, the horror!).

Conditioning training or not, nothing could've really prepared him for the social interactions that involved a femme who had absolutely no comprehension of acceptable social behavior. Jazz at least had that even if he consciously chose to throw most of said acceptable social behavior out of the proverbial window. Which is basically why as of just now, Jazz's position as the most vexing person in Prowl's life was now taken up by said femme.

Not that Prowl would share that with anyone, mind you.

* * *

"Toli." Toli pointed at himself. "Al. Harry. Sky." The last one was accompanied by an all-encompassing sweeping motion, indicating the shuttle they were riding.

The red alien mecha nodded with comprehension and repeated the names, making the Russian grin widely. Sure, they were all worried, but the small amount of camaraderie helped maintain the morale and thus making things run smoother. There was certain respect to be had for having such an ability.

" _Ironhide_ " the red alien mecha introduced himself. Or tried to.

 **::I could try to translate that but I doubt you'd remember the whole damn thing.::** Sky reluctantly added his two cents into the conversation if only to break the slightly uncomfortable silence.

Al shrugged apologetically at Ironhide who sighed and repeated his name slowly. Not that it helped much.

 **::Nope. That's still as incomprehensible as ever.::** came Brian's voice over the speakers.

 **::Sky, maybe you should tell him to go for a short nickname that we can actually remember? Not that we'd have that much of a problem, but I can't be arsed to spent three ages introducing him to everyone and stuff. By the time I'd be done we'd be attending the memorial day for those who attempted to stay and listen.::** Wolf also butted in. **::But don't translate the last part word for word, I don't want to offend him or anything...::**

The small conundrum was solved by Anatoli pointing at the alien mecha and giving him the short nickname Red.

* * *

Damn it! They were getting closer with their sweeps and they might miss out on them if MJ wasn't done by the time they came by. Stupid silencing technology! MJ rushed back down the little hole she had dug up and grabbed the flare gun from her medpack. She quickly crawled back in, ignoring any and all pains and discomforts to her door wings and her broken ankle. This was more important. With a few fervent punches and some more clawing, she could finally stick her hand out through the thick layer of snow. Jungler wasted no time in taking the flare gun and shooting with it once. She hoped it was enough. The two of them were really running out of time.

* * *

 **::A flare just went up! It's MJ!::** Skylar exclaimed over the speakers and picked up his pace along with Brian and Wolf.

Ironhide was happy that they had found their friend. Now if only they'd find Prowl as well... he was dreading what they'd find and that was IF they'd find him at all. Alive.

As they neared the location of the flare, Ironhide took a quick glance at his tracking device. There were two dots.

" _Oi, there's two people 'ere! Ah thought we were lookin' only for one o' yers?"_

Ever so slightly the glimmer of hope grew stronger in his spark. Perhaps the second dot was Prowl?

 _ **::Indeed, we were looking just for**_ Jungler _**but perhaps she has come across someone else? Whatever the case, we will know soon enough.::**_

And, indeed, the shuttle mecha lowered himself enough for Ironhide and Anatoli to jump down. Sky needed to find solid enough ground to land on properly. Al double checked Harry and then rummaged through some of the compartments in Sky's interior.

"It's got to be somewhere around here. She never leaves without this ruddy thing, lest she misses out a good opportunity to use it. Or any opportunity, really." Al mumbled more to himself, wings twitching slightly as he took a good look around the compartments.

Still, Skylar joined in on the one-sided conversation.

 **::Fiona had always struck me as a...needlessly extreme person in certain situations. I've come to understand it has a lot to do with ...the Blitz.::**

"Contrary to popular belief, the Blitz is not responsible for that. Well, not entirely. Hmph. And here it is. Kermit Buster MK II, the best God-damned exterminator of Xarynthians the French Cuisine has to offer." Al chuckled." Man, Sky, Fia's gonna get so pissed she missed out on using her favourite flamethrower, she's probably gonna sulk for several hours at the least!"

Sky allowed himself a tiny huff of a laugh over the com.

* * *

It took Jazz approximately 0.3478 nanoclicks to remotely hack the tablet the little redheaded organic was holding.

Fun times.

It wasn't difficult by any stretch of his processor but it was different than what he was used to. It wasn't Cybertronian and some of the coding was damn straight archaic in execution.

Then there was the language.

Oh wow.

Where to start?

Well...

"Man, your language is crazy as shit!"

The red headed femme actually dropped the tablet in shock.

* * *

"Remember to keep your distance, folks, this thing packs a punch!"

"Albert if that's the bloody torch I will fucking kill you with it!"came MJ's muffled cry somewhere ahead and beneath them.

"I'll count to five if it helps!" Al failed to reassure MJ.

"You are not the one with that thing pointing in their direction, Albert!"

"Five!"

"Bloody shite." the Jungler ground out and scurried as fast as she could down the hole, grabbed the alien mecha beside her and pulled him as far away as she could. The wave of heat was tantalizingly delicious to her near frozen frame. And thankfully it was not even close to what she was used to being produced from the ruddy thing.

She blinked rapidly, trying to come to terms with the fact that the man next to her and herself were not fried chow. Thick clouds of steam were clouding her vision but she easily recognized the tell-tale rattling sound produced by the steel rope ladder that was dropped down and soon enough there was a single silhouette that was swiftly revealed to be Wolfgang. Judging by his smug grin it was no wonder why MJ's expression changed rapidly from one of relief to a very nasty scowl.

"Not a word." she grit out.

"I haven't said anything." he replied, still grinning smugly. "So, who is this fellow you've been... gallivanting with?"

Her scowl went from nasty to downright thunderous and her silence made him chuckle.

"So there is a story!"

"NOT a wo-" she tried to grit out but another person slid down. One that she did not recognize.

" _Prowl! Good t' see ya ahrite! Ah found yer staff a bit furtha down the valley. Thought ye were scrap fer sure!"_

 _"I am fine, Ironhide, as you can see so yourself."_

 _"So, ye were stuck 'ere with the femme all by_ _ **yerself**_ _?"_

Prowl grit his dentae and took a slow intake. Ironhide burst into laughter.

" _Not a word, Ironhide."_

Said mech's laughing fit only became worse.

" _Especially not to Jazz and that is an order!"_

 _"Ah, Prowl! Never change! Good thing we're all 'ere. Saves us time with explainin' everything. They got Jazz in their Forward Camp as the shuttle called it. Did ya know they don' speak a single glyph of Cybex? Ah even tried some o' the old stuff. The shuttle's got some o' it down, though. The rest? Zilch! Nada!"_

 _"_ What happened to your ankle?"

MJ almost sighed at the question Wolf was asking. On one hand it was nice how Fia's cousins always paid attention to little details like that. Their overprotective streak was flattering, really. But she was no way in hell going to admit that she tripped all on her lonesome. It just wasn't professional. And well …should she even say it? She cringed internally. It just wasn't **cool**. There, she admitted it to herself. Sweet merciful God that she didn't believe existed, that was a painful experience to go through. But hey, no one was perfect. Small baby steps.

Ahem.

Luckily Wolf didn't give her time to answer as he was already busy looking her all over for scrapes and injuries.

"What happened to your visor!? Jesus, it got ripped off! Were you in a fight? Wait. **Are those paint scrapes on your thighs? If that one-armed bastard tried to do anything...** " the unspoken threat and the accompanying wave of killer intent were swiftly dealt with by a single swat to his forehead protector plate, courtesy of Jungler M.D.

Both alien mecha were now looking in their direction. Ugh, that was embarrassing. Better salvage whatever she could from the situation.

"Let's get out of here. I don't feel comfortable leaving Fia in the condition she is without me supervising."

"Wait. Fia's hurt?"

Great, Wolf just had to use the magic words and now all three brothers were going into Overdrive Overprotective Big Brother mode. Way to open her mouth. Seriously!

MJ sighed and rubbed her temples. Her headache was coming along nicely within her de-visored metal noggin and she was tired, cold and in need of some serious rest which, just judging by the mere state of every single person around her, she just knew she wasn't going to get anytime soon. It reminded her quite well of the reason why she moved on to civilian medicine as soon as she was able to – all four of Fia's cousins were too much for her to handle. Don't get her wrong. They worked well together. Too well, in fact. But in situations such as these, there were just too many pet peeves that pissed her off too often and things like that just built itself until she was _one grain short of a nuclear fallout_ **[A/N: reference to Fia's in-universe infamous saying "I'll take that with a grain of salt...and three nuclear warheads"]**.

Fia knew all that, of course, but there were certain situations in which her best friend wanted to have, perhaps not the best possible team, but one that she could count on to get the job done. And they, all of them, including the newest addition to their B team Ginny, were the ones that made sure she could actually rest because she trusted them to do their jobs.

For this particular mission she mostly wanted them all back together. At least that was what MJ deduced. It had been seventeen long years since they had been together on a mission like this and, in a way, it was very nostalgic and...just right. All of them had gone a long way and had worked hard to get to this point. A point where they could think about alien life with at least some sense of hope. An end of an age and the beginning of a new one if one was to think in grander terms. The end of a decidedly short and violent age of xenophobia and grief. And the beginning of something new, brighter and, hopefully, better.

MJ spared a glance at the two aliens who were quietly chatting in their own language. The bigger red and black fellow seemed like someone who would get along famously with Toli, which she didn't dare guess if that would be a good or a bad thing. He seemed to be explaining something rather animatedly, waving his hands and making gestures and expressions that were perfectly wasted on the blind mecha. Still, the blind man nodded and followed along the conversation with that reserved, cold politeness that she had come to understand was all him in the several hours they had spent trapped under the snow.

Toli came closer to the pair and he nodded towards Sky's shuttle form, prompting them wordlessly to board. Al was already hurriedly putting away The Kermit Buster -that monstrosity that she loathed oh so much. Wolf was by her side, one hand protectively around her shoulders and wings slightly spread, thus providing her with the heat of his larger frame. Brian was already in the sky, making lazy, wide circles around their general location and keeping watch. He occasionally twirled playfully in the air, showing off his happiness in his own way. Even Skylar, who was in shuttle form, seemed to have perked up visibly, which was hard to miss given the warm waves of familial affection sent her way.

They were just people.

All of them.

And that realization made her understand Fia's motivations behind this mission a bit better.

They were all people.

It was a very simple thought and at the same time the implications behind it nearly sent her reeling. Up until this point it was as if she had this wall within her that separated things into Us and Them. Up until this point, the one-armed blind mecha had been alien this or alien that. He was a stoic, polite man. A man who had seen far better days, who had been battered and beaten in some sort of skirmish that had gone on for goodness knows how long. A man who had been tortured, for crying out loud! A man, who had kicked her ass and then, without a second thought and at the risk of his own life, saved her from near certain death.

This man was no alien because he wasn't something, no, **SOMEONE** unknown to her. In fact, **he was just like her** – a person. It was nothing like the image that her mind had first produced – the towering mechanical monstrosities manned by the Xarynthians, the thundering footsteps of the white metal giants that more often than not meant obliteration of anything you held dear. The machines the amphibian race had used were uniformly white and near indistinguishable from each other. Sometimes they varied in height or frame, but they were always that dreaded uniform white and were all clean lines - a lifeless and cruel mockery of actual life.

They were so alike that it almost hurt. The mannerisms, the way they showed their emotions, the... everything really. She just couldn't wrap her mind around how much these people were just like them. It was crazy, it was near inconceivable and oh so **wonderful**. She felt as if there was a weight that had been lifted off of her and she just couldn't pinpoint what exactly made her feel so relieved.

Perhaps it was the fact that for the first time since the Blitz something was actually sort of working out without too much effort on their part. Perhaps the frost was getting to her processors. Either way, she felt that she had the energy to get the job done and attend to everyone's injuries before she dropped dead from exhaustion.

She was fine and she was going to live and the overhanging ominous thoughts of possibly dying were no longer there. That feeling summoned a nostalgia that was seventeen years old and it was a powerful emotion that made her relive those terrifyingly long nights and impossibly short days of death and violence. It wasn't so much of a flashback. It was a strange form of deja vu and she realized she was taken by that overwhelming sensation only when Wolf nudged her gently and got her out of this funk she had set herself into.

It was no secret that most of them were still haunted by what they had lived and fought through. Seventeen years later the fear of mass extinction was still as strong as ever, driving their entire race closer to each other and empowering their rapid development into a space-fairing race. Fear and desperation were a power in their own right, she realized with crystal clarity, not for the first time.

"Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst" MJ muttered under her breath.

"What was that, MJ?" Wolf asked.

"Oh, nothing. Let's get back to base."

Wolf nodded and helped her get settled inside Sky's shuttle form.

 **A/N: I had more planned for this chapter but I had a 2 month exam session to prepare for and dealt with a lot of family issues that popped up one after the other and after this hiatus I found it hard to get back into the mental state I was when writing this. All in all I managed to get it done with an acceptable ending, making for an easier transition for the next chapter. Can't wait to get to the part where Fia wakes up and the whole interaction thing. Jazz is the easiest for me to write, I think, followed by the ever logical and stoic Prowl. Their dynamic is a lot like MJ and Fia's, although they are different in many ways as characters.**

 **Also, remember that part where another team will be arriving? I cant wait for that either. I have this really expanded alternate universe going on and I want to show to you guys the Lost Fleet's way of life, their philosophy and generally their way of thinking. I just fear it might slow down the plot, but it's important for me to show it to you guys, my readers.**

 **So, I don't remember if I've mentioned the final cast of the Decepticons that will be present in my fic. We've got Overlord, Slipstream, Hook, Barricade, Thundercracker and, of course, Skywarp. I've been working on their "reincarnations" for my particular universe and I hope I would do at least a decent job with them. On the Autobot side we also have Kup, Bluestreak and Hot Rod, thus making 6 Autobots for 6 Decepticons.**

 **A little additional information for some of my original characters and other stuff:**

 **\- Sarah Lewis is based on Jessica Chastain's characterization of Captain Lewis from The Martian**

 **Virginia "Ginny" Grayson is based on Zoe Saldana, mixed in with a bit of Miranda Lawson from Mass Effect, Professor Macgonagall and any hardcore feminist/ modern amazon on the internet**

 **Major Rafael Esquivel's mechanoid form is very similar to Bumblebee; he is also the only survivor of the three token human kids from the show in this timeline; he has never met the transformers in this timeline and is one of the smartest people aboard the Third Fleet, hence why he is one of the people in charge of the Science Department within the Third Fleet**

 **Some 70% of the fleet are trigger happy**

 **In this timeline, the 6th season of Game of Thrones, Suicide Squad, Batman vs Superman and a whole lotta other movies never happened**


	13. Chapter 13

_I know what true **hell** is_

 _I was **left** by myself_

 _With my own **demons**_

 _And there was **nothing**_

 _No **Sound**_

 _No **Light**_

 _No **Darkness**_

 _There was only **myself**_

 _And my **demons**_

 _No **respite** from my own monstrous existence_

 _No **solace** for my grief and pain_

 _No **hope** for an end_

 _For an_ _ **Absolution**_

 _Now I **stand** before you_

 _And nothing has **changed**_

 _Yet everything I **see** is different_

 _The world has moved on **without** me_

 _It doesn't **need** me anymore_

 _But I **still** need it..._

 _And that is why I give it my **all**_

 _Because that is the **only** thing _

_I have left to **live** for..._

 _[With Major Rafael Esquivel, aboard the Red Calamity]_

The First and Second Fleets had it easy. Organized with a proper brand new space navy, with nice, clean uniforms, with proper, trained veterans at the top and crisp, ambitious cadets, it was everything Rafael had been looking forward to when he first heard of the Fleet program. What he got in reality was a compromise, which, in his honest opinion, shouldn't have been the surprise he felt at that moment. His entire life had been constituted of compromises. He was the youngest child in a family of five children and he never really found any common ground with his older siblings. His oldest brother died during the Blitz, defending civilians in another state, his other brother left shortly after the Blitz and now lives in Europe. He hasn't heard from him since the Change which was also absolutely zero surprise since his entire family had always been more or less technophobic. His older sister was a housewife with two sons, one of which should be a proud father to an adorable little girl any day now if Raf's calculations were correct ( they always were). His other sister worked somewhere in the Mid-West as a waitress with two unsuccessful marriages behind her back and three snotty little adorable brats to take care of. His old man gave him token calls once every few months while his mother, seven years after the fact, still refused to even hear his voice.

His entire life was an avalanche of compromises. As the youngest child he often had to get by with hand-me downs, which never really bothered him too much as he hadn't been picky about how he looked as long as he was comfortable. It was an unspoken rule that the older you were, the more attention you got. His dad had always been the authority at home, demanding respect but also mindful and respectful, always overworked with too many work hours and not enough vacation days. His old man's word was law and his old man was a practical man. Raf had learned a lot from him, most of which he applied even now.

He looked at himself through the mirror in his bathroom. When had he become this gruff? When had he become a copy of his old man at his worst? He had the respect, he was the most accomplished child from the bunch. He was the commander of his own spaceship for crying out loud! The Arcee was literally supposed to be his life's work!

Then why did it feel as if he had failed himself?

Everything has become a compromise these days. And he allowed these compromises to happen. It was easier to be accepted and ignored than to be the disappointment. It was easier to agree than to set his foot down and to face the reality of rejection.

It was easier to pretend you were happy than to struggle with a dream that would never come true.

When his family moved to Jasper, Nevada, he didn't say anything. His friends had promised to keep in contact but they didn't. It was okay, though, because he wasn't really capable to go on their birthdays or to send them gifts for Christmas. With seven mouths to feed on one person's salary you had to make compromises. And since he was the youngest and the least important member of the family, the compromises often meant one thing:

"When you're older you will understand."

"Don't you see your father is busy? Go play in the corner, I have to clean up this mess"

"I'm sorry Jorge, maybe next time we can get you something better, you know I have to make sure you are all provided for."

"You are too young to bother with this, Rafaelito, go in the other room, I am talking with your aunt!" (She's always on the phone with her sister.)

The thing was, he wasn't too young. He understood all too well, even all the way back when he was three. Things just made sense to him. Old computers, broken appliances and hand-me-down mobile phones had been his playground. For him, things just made sense. He knew how to write and read at the age of three, not that his parents had the time of day for him. Raf had always been dismissed as the smallest and most unimportant one. He found a way to make that work for him, even though that also had to come at the compromise of never really feeling fulfilled with his family.

At school he had managed to get several years ahead because his father hadn't bothered to read the papers he was signing, thinking this was another road trip permission slip. His mother was a loving and caring parent, but she was also overburdened with housework. Hernan Stefan, his oldest brother, never gave him the time of day. He was a typical jock and was hyped about joining the army as soon as he graduated. Look at how that worked out for him. Pablo was all about the ladies but then he met Juana Maria who set him straight and now they were both happily married somewhere in Europe. The wedding was post-Change so, naturally, Raf's invitation was lost somewhere along the way. Whatever.

Raf graduated high school at 14 years and only because he missed one of his skipping exams a year back due to his grandfather getting a heart attack. For the Esquivel clan, family was the most important thing.

Then why was Raf the one who always had to make the sacrifices? Why was he always the one to be ignored? That one year that he had to wait to finish school had hurt. He had nearly no contact with people his own age, his fellow students were all older and he was either bullied or dismissed. He had no friends and his only comfort had been technology.

When he had been done with school he didn't bother to tell his parents. He had a plan, you see. He was saving money to go to MIT and get his life started on his own terms. Some times it really paid to be unnoticeable.

How was school?

Fine.

Did you do your homework?

Ages ago, mum.

When is the next parent-teacher meeting?

He always made sure to set those up at the, ahem, best possible moments.

Your father is at work, Rafaelito and I have to visit your grandmother and grandfather, but Hernan is responsible, he will go to the meeting.

Sweet! As responsible as Hernan was, he never said no to a 20 dollar bill bribe.

The plan was flawless and perfect. His parents were too busy worrying over their more important, older children. Raf was easy because he didn't cause trouble. Never mind that he spent 18 hours a day writing code, causing more gray hairs for national security for shits and giggles or playing racing games, all the while not really having any social contact with almost anyone.

Everything was perfect, despite all the compromises.

And then the Blitz happened.

His family evacuated in time not because he had been telling them to get the hell out of dodge but because Hernan called one night and told them in no uncertain terms any and all urban areas are a certain bloodbath. Never mind the fact Raf had been preaching about it for two weeks straight.

He still remembered the screams from his closest encounter with the toadies. Sometimes they still kept him up at night. What if his family had been found in the brush instead of the other group that was near them? It had been a very sobering moment. It wasn't about him anymore. He had to do everything he could to protect his family.

That following day he had made his father a makeshift pipe bolt-action rifle from some scraps he had found around the area and a vague idea how the contraption should work.

Later on he found and fixed an old world war two military radio that netted them a spot in a secret military base that was nearby their location. On that day he found himself achieving recognition for the first time.

"You made this, son?" the Colonel had asked him, a no-nonsense voice, while eying the weapon he had made for his father. "And that radio is your handy-work too, no doubt."

His military career started at the tender age of sixteen. His old man had been against it, of course.

"You are sixteen! You haven't even finished high school!"

His two sisters and mother were too busy crying. Correction. Mom and Anna were crying while his other sister (the one who ended up divorced twice and a single mom to three) was trying to make them man up. She had always been her father's daughter.

Raf's cry of "I've been done with school for years!" sure shut them all up. It was his very own breaking point and then he argued with his father for the very first time. Showing backbone was one of the most liberating moments in his life.

After that whole fiasco his father refused to talk to him for a solid nine years. His mother called him secretly with that special conspirative hush of a voice that always made him roll his eyes. For the most part Raf was not angry with his father. He sincerely believed his father was more angry at the fact he hadn't known his own son as well as he thought he did and that he had let himself neglect that child because he just could do only so much.

His father was a simple man with simple, humble beginnings. His mother was the same. The way he viewed the world was just too different and he accepted that fact.

When the Blitz had miraculously ended he found himself staying with the military and steadfastly following through the only thing that had ever given him recognition. Seven or so years passed by in the blink of an eye, bringing along with them several university degrees and a prestigious semi-desk job in a special forces branch, under the command of that same Colonel, seven years later a Major General in rank, MG Leland Bishop.

Life was good to him.

He met Terry online. His wife. His now ex-wife.

Remember that thing with the compromises? Good. Remember that too, because there will be more of that here too.

Terence "Terry" Esquivel nee Beau was(had been) his beautiful wife. She was funny, she was awesome, she lived life on the fast lane and the first time they met in real life they got really drunk and then they spent three days straight locked in a hotel room fucking like bunnies. Terry was named after her grandfather, who, according to the family annals, saved hers and her mother's lives during early childbirth caused by a car crash.

God he missed her so much!

You can't be completely happy with your life. It was either your career or your family and damn it all, Raf wanted to have both. The change had been hard for both of them. She was still organic and she had found it awkward to be intimate with him. His skin felt different, he was either too hot or too cold. She always found something that unnerved her about him and not even the experimental military grade holo technology that he adapted for his own use (perfectly illegally, mind you) was not enough to save his marriage. They'd been married for a total of six years, the last two of which she had been cheating on him.

He understood that she couldn't accept him as he was now. It was hard on him too and apparently his love was not enough to conquer this hurdle. Their divorce was by mutual agreement and it was one of those moments in his mecha life when he wished that they'd find something to actually get them smashed for once. The mecha life was a sober life.

Raf had tried to call her before the launch but she refused to answer any of his calls. It had hurt. A lot.

He named his ship The Red Calamity after her, in a way. After all, the many hours spent online playing with her character Calamity Red in that cool new MMO had been some of his best. Raf just wanted to keep something of hers for himself, even if nowadays she wanted nothing to do with him for whatever reason. He wondered how she was taking the whole fleet disappearing thing. She was still back on Earth somewhere with that fancy pants organic new boyfriend of hers. She hadn't known he'd be commanding one of the ships – that particular news he had been saving up for a special night out and then she had dropped the bomb with the whole divorce thing.

The Change, as a whole hadn't been kind to him. It hadn't been kind to anyone, really. But most people at least tried to be supportive of the affected's situation. His mentor, Leland Bishop, had been one of the changed but he died early on during the Quarantine, trying to remove rubble from some survivors. His death had been quick and painless, at least - a metal beam through the spark. It was a loss that he felt keenly even to this day. Bishop had been a great man and one of the stalwart supporters of the DEUS project. It was only in honor of his memory that he tolerated his bratty Commander.

Anyways, there was a compromise here as well, don't worry, though this time it was for the better. Hard to believe, right? Raf's mechanoid frame was that of a scout grounder type. A really fast and really furious scout grounder type. A dark orange incredibly custom and shiny Chevrolet Camaro whose engine purr made enthusiasts weak in the knees. He was, naturally, his own fan. All his life he had been an average everything bespectacled thin lanky super nerd and even the military hadn't cured the whole nerd thing he had going on. Once he had the opportunity to choose a suitable alt form, the Chevies had been his first choice. His protoform retained most of his natural lankiness but now the added armor of his frame made him look more the roguish athlete and less the too thin from forgetting to eat average gamer noob. Not that he had ever been a noob. That was the one low he had tried his hardest not to cross.

There was a ping on his com line. It seems the time for introspection was over. Raf got out of the shower and took a towel with him to dry off on his way out of the bathroom.

 **:: What is it?::**

 **:: A Valkyrie Patrol has discovered debris in sector 39C. It's from one of the two missing scouting teams. Doctor Woodsworth requests your immediate presence, sir. ::**

 **::Tell the Valkyrie I will be there in 30 minutes. Prepare a cruiser to launch as soon as I arrive at docking bay A1. ::**

 **:: Yes, sir! ::**

Raf cut off the connection and forewent applying his metal armor for the sake of a pair of comfortable and quick to put on clothes. A pair of Third Fleet Standard's dark grey pants and a soft off-white T-shirt with the United Nations' Star Fleet logo on it. The glowing yellow rings that were his eyes quickly looked over his visage, making sure he looked presentable even in such a casual attire. His dermal plating was a very pale gray, wires and cables clearly outlined underneath, flexing with the clenching and unclenching of his firsts. He didn't look that different, really. His jaw was still the characteristic Esquivel Square, like he had heard his mother joke about it long ago and his hair would still be that unruly gravity defying mess if he had kept it as it was straight after the event. Right now he was sporting a buzz cut that didn't really complement his head shape that well. In a spur of the moment decision, he grabbed one of his visors and headed out. He had twelve minutes to get to Docking Bay A1.

* * *

 _[Energon Mining Facility, Forward Camp]_

"So, how'd you guys get into this mess? Us Autobots try to keep the war from spreading to other civilizations if we can help it." The Self-proclaimed Jazz as of five minutes ago was exchanging culturally significant know-how with their alien language expert Sarah Lewis.

"I swear to God if he tries to grab Ensign Lewis again I will blow his brains out." Gravity grumbled quietly to Fernandez who was checking up on his still unconscious commander.

"I think he is being genuinely friendly."

"Then I will just have to blow up his gonads too, for extra measure."

"He's just an excitable fellow. He also loves to gesticulate a lot, but I think that's just him emulating Sarah's over-excitement."

Gravity merely glared, arms crossed and BEM field as tightly packed as possible and ready to strike out.

"You really don't like him, now do you, ma'am? (A/N: Spent an hour checking if this sentence with an interrogation tag was correct because I usually don't have to use a positive reverse polarity tag... whatever, if anyone finds the question structure wrong poke me in the reviews section about it. I know some people get off on being grammar nazies :3)

A low growl was the only response Fernandez got out of her. He focused his attention back to the alien's and Sarah's conversation.

"It's a really long story. We got stranded nearby and we are checking out the Binary Star System before heading back home. Sometimes it can't be helped where life takes you." Sarah was being purposefully evasive with her answers, giving the bare minimum of information. "In all honesty we weren't expecting to meet another life form so soon in our journey. It's a really exciting prospect for the whole of humanity."

Jazz cocked his head slightly to the side. Something in her words was bugging him.

"This ain't your first, ah, First Contact, obviously. Ya've got Neutrals with ya, though for some reason they don't speak Neo-Cybex. That's what our main dialect is called, by the way. Also when ya introduced yourselves ya said ya were Human. According to your language database that's the name of ya species. But the really lovely ladies over there are like me. So what's going on here, sweetspark?"

And wasn't that the question of the hour? Gravity sighed heavily and walked towards the annoying black and white alien. Sarah looked up at her and stepped back next to Jaeger who patted her on the back. Jazz was looking at the brown and green mechanoid woman who stood before him. Apparently she was the one to tell him the bad news, whatever they were.

"Seventeen years ago our planet was attacked by a highly advanced race of bipedal amphibians who used a large variety of mechanical structures and weaponry to try and wipe clean Earth of humans. We call this event the Xarynthian Blitz. It lasted for two and a half months in which nearly all of our major cities were systematically culled of any and all stragglers who hadn't managed to hide themselves in time. We were severely outnumbered and outgunned and any and all attempts to amass some form of resistance were met universally with failure. And then the _really lovely lady_ _over there_ took a small team of volunteers to their flag ship and ended the whole thing in less than two hours. That's the problem with the hive mind types - any weakness can potentially kill off their entire army in one go."

"She had one chance to make it work and she took it." Sarah added quietly, making Jazz whip his head in her direction and observe the previously jovial woman sport an oddly haunted look on her face. "We have a saying on earth, "she continued. " _Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned_. It's a quote from a play by William Congreve. Well... Hell had not seen fury like a woman scorned, but neither had the Xarynthians, as it turned out."

Jazz noted that the entire group had become very quiet, lost in their memories, pensive in the face of the consequences of this Blitz. It was different from their own war with the Decepticons. And there was something more that was left unsaid, hanging sorrowfully in the air. Gravity shook herself first of the mood.

"That day we celebrated like never before. The lives of four billion people had been taken and those of many more changed beyond recognition. Our hero had died sacrificing her life for the sake of all of us, or at least we thought so at the time."

"She died but she got better." Fernandez quipped, earning a poke from Gravity for interrupting her.

"True enough, several years later we found her at the bottom of a lake all by her lonesome inside the sunken flagship. Whatever she did inside the flagship, it killed off their entire army in an instant. Our entire solar system is still littered with their ships. We've been working on retrofitting them ever since. This is where we go to the most interesting and relevant part for you, _Jazz._ Seven years ago something blew up one of our major cities. And because of that thing, from the millions that died, eleven thousand got stuck like this. Young, old, men, women, children – the event was indiscriminate. So there you have it, Autobot. _I am human_."

Viciousness, passion, pride and a warning. That was what Jazz got from the brown femme's unleashed BEM field. I am human, she had said.

I am Human.

That revelation was certainly a shock to his systems.

"I think I need to sit down here. How exactly did you, ah, turn into one of us? This is kinda a big deal. I gotta figure out how to present all o' this to Prowl. He's gonna, as you humans say it, flip his shit. No, really, he's gonna glitch so hard, you don't even know! Man... you've been like this for seven years? That's like what? A wee bit less than a decivorn( **A/N: 8.3 years)** or something. Wow, you guys are practically newsparks." Jazz shook his head, barely comprehending the enormity of what was going on."I got my aft handed to me by a couple of newsparks. Thank Primus Prowl didn't see this. Not that he can see anything at the moment. Oh wow. And you even got a Sigma Ability. Ya have any idea how rare those are? I've been to places and I've never seen one like yours, though. So ya are a very special lady on top of being a really lovely one."

At this point her simmering anger started to really boil and Jazz just had to have the gal to grin flirtatiously in her direction. In that very moment the familiar sound of Skylar's thrusters grabbed the attention of all of them thus unknowingly saving the Jazz-man from an early grave.

"They're back!" Sarah exclaimed jovially, more nerves than actual happiness.

The large doors burst open to reveal an entourage of walking scrapes and bruises, carefully guiding a stretcher inside. The red head gave out a sigh of relief when she realized all of her comrades were present and accounted for, though worse for the wear. What really caught her attention, though, were the two new additions to the returning party.

" _Prowl! Hide! I see you found our mystery friends! Ya have no idea what a treat you're in for! Prowlie, mah mech, ya are sooo going to glitch by the end of all o' this, I guarantee it!"_

Prowl sighed tiredly. At least he was given the grace to clean himself up a bit before they landed.

 _"It's Prowl, Jazz. "_ Jazz noted he sounded decidedly tired, more tired than the usual, even for Prowl. He patted him heartily on the back, for good measure. There was no reaction. He was definitely tired, then. Come to think of it, the entire party looked like they were about to drop from exhaustion. The black medic femme was missing her visor. She had pretty optics.

* * *

It seemed that they used one of the old abandoned facilities on the planetoid as their base. There was some sort of snow construct right outside for some reason to which he found little logic given how fortified the hangar itself was. The mechs and the femme with them were mostly quiet, but that was not due to some tenseness, rather they were tired of the day's events. Even the ever jovial and loud mech that had offered him this vodka drink seemed calmer and quieter than before. The day's excitement had simply worn out all of them.

Ironhide surveyed the area discreetly once more. There were no signs of Decepticon activity. Not of recent activity, anyhow. He had to keep his guard up, at least until these folk rested up. He was used to it, anyways. Both Prowl and Jazz were used to it, as well. There was rarely a respite from their war and these people here... these Neutrals... They looked like they had no idea what they had just walked themselves into. He had to keep them safe. It was the Autobot thing to do. No. It was the fragging right thing to do and he, Ironhide, would be fragged to the Pit and back before he decides to shirk on his duty.

The tallest Seeker of the bunch quickly opened the hangar's doors and walked in. Ironhide heard voices from inside, one of which was Jazz', which made his spark beat a little easier. So they were all together in this, at least.

"Jazz is here." Prowl stated evenly, though by now Ironhide was familiar enough with him to recognize the tiny note of relief in his voice. "I find myself somewhat surprised he hasn't gotten himself killed yet."

"Heh." Ironhide huffed out a short, quiet laugh at Prowl's dry sense of humor. Yes. Prowl had a sense of humor. It's tiny, microscopic even, but it's there.

"Prowl! Hide! I see you've found our mystery friends! You have no idea what a treat you're in for! Prowlie, mah mech, ya are so going to glitch by the end of all this, I guarantee it!"

Ironhide rolled his optics. If he had a chip of Shanix for every time Jazz said something like this...

Prowl just sighed tiredly. He was so not going to deal with this right now. He was cold, he was tired and he really needed some recharge time and possibly some energon, though his chances of getting any of the last from these bunch appeared to be less than one in twelve thousand, which was a pretty disheartening prospect. A good swig of decent high-grade energon would do him wonders.

"It's Prowl, Jazz." he corrected automatically, not really interested with dealing with Jazz right now, especially not when he seemed this excited. An excited Jazz was never a good thing. Oh and there seemed to be a femme that was ready to bring down the Unmaking upon the black and white smart-aft. There was simply no mistaking the righteous fury wafting off of her in waves, not to mention Jazz was emitting his smugness all over the place like some unruly youngling. Had he been a lesser mech, he would've died from the embarassment of it all. But, sadly, Prowl was Prowl and that meant he had to maintain his decorum.

A servo pressed gently to his remaining intact one and then he was tugged lightly in a direction. It was the medic femme he had been stuck with.

" _Sit down here and drink this. I need to take a look at the more grievously injured but I don't like the look of your door wings so this will have to do for now."_

 _"_ Ah. I forgot to give you the language pack!" Jazz suddenly exclaimed and not a moment later both Prowl and Ironhide received an internal ping from the black and white mech. "This _English_ is really archaic and it might give you a bit of a processor ache but you'll get used to it quickly."

Prowl suppressed a cringe as data flowed in large quantities through his processor. Jazz always did this – he always put things in the best light possible. Really Archaic was to this language what Jazz was to Prowl's daily duties. At least he hadn't belittled the processor ache part. The entire language was, indeed, a chaotic mess.

Ironhide was already nursing his aching helm with a displeased look on his face plates.

"Ah hate it when ah have ta go through a new language." the large black and red mech grumbled in English and Prowl understood him clearly enough.

"You can assimilate new languages in seconds. That's... that's just crazy!" a femme exclaimed. Her voice was unusually clear and...

Wait.

Prowl focused his attention to his echolocation programming and despite the continuous stream of error messages and the difficulty with which he moved his door wings, he erected them as wide and as high as possible to receive as much information as he could.

The hangar's general layout appeared before him. He could distinguish that there was one terminal active and that it was not connected to the facility itself but rather to a relatively small and somewhat loud engine of a sort. Closest to him were two prone and unconscious figures whose systems were giving clear indications of a medically induced stasis. Further on ahead he found Ironhide and Jazz who were now talking with the Neutrals in a friendly manner.

The medic femme's irregular limping steps were easy to recognize in the cluster of sounds and voices. She was close to his own location and she was hovering back and forth between the two prone figures.

"You should let me take a look at that ankle." A mech's voice, again unusually clear.

"Go take care of the others first. I need to deal with these two first and with this guy." The medic femme was clearly indicating him at the end there.

"Hey, mister, you look pretty banged up. What did you do? Cheat on the waifu? Had a building dropped down on ya? A piano? Haven't seen anyone this bad since the Quarantine. You probably don't know about it but it's bad with a capital B, if ya know what I'm saying, 'fcourse."

Prowl turned his helm toward the voice. For some reason the voice was the only indicator that there was someone there. His field didn't detect anything there and he was pretty attuned as far as a Praxian could be without a Sigma Ability to amplify that sense. There were also no sounds from any systems at all and that was a disconcerting pattern that this mech shared with the femme from before. Not even the stealth modded minicons had mastered such a level of silence. The tactician pursed his mouth plates and exvented quietly.

"You are correct about this Quarantine you speak of. I am unaware of the subject it annotates in this particular context. However, I have neither cheated on this , ah, waifu person that you speak of, nor have I had a building or a piano drop down on me, as you say it. I find it necessary, however, to ask of this piano dropping practice and what it involves. I must say that such practices, should they be performed in your colony, leave me quite appalled and concerned for the well being of your people."

Prowl, due to being blind at the moment, missed out on how MJ stopped doing whatever she had been doing and turned towards Fernandez with the most incredulous expression on her face.

"Oh my fucking God!" she mouthed at Fernandez, who at that very moment was looking up at the ceiling with equally disbelieving look on his face and performed the sign of the Cross. He then turned towards the sniper medic and shook his head.

"I don't even!" he mouthed back.

It was all they could do to not burst out in gratuitous laughter or stare in horror, shock or just plain disbelief.

"We, ah, don't do no piano dropping, mister. You shouldn't, ah, worry about that. Anyways, my name is Robert Fernandez, mister. You can call me Robby or Fernandez. Almost everybody calls me Fernandez, though."

Prowl was slightly startled by the revelation that he forgot to introduce himself. He discreetly rebooted his vocals and expertly resisted the urge to cringe at his horrible mistake.

"Apologies for my lack of proper social decorum, Robert Fernandez. My designation closely translates to the word Prowl in this language. As such I will ask of you to refer to my mechanism as Prowl, if mostly for brevity's sake. If I may be so bold, I would like to be introduced to your medic femme companion with whom I've spent the last few hours, as pertained by the measurement of time that your colony uses."

"Fernandez, tell him I'm busy."

A not so quiet "Ha!" was heard from Jazz, who seemed to be keeping one audial on their conversation. Prowl, however, would not be deterred. He was aware of the fact that he was not the most socially pleasant of mechs and simply remained quiet and opted to wait for as long as it would be socially acceptable.

"Aw, c'mon, doc! Look at how hard he is trying to be polite 'n' ev'rythin'."

"I am not trying to be anything. I am merely following the proper social decorum as per Cybertronian customs."

Again, MJ stopped what she was doing and looked up at Fernandez meaningfully. She then rolled her eyes and shook her head before continuing her check up on Harry's systems. Prowl, however, was still as undeterred as ever and she could feel his unseeing gaze upon her back.

"You are quite aware that I will most likely be the one with hands halfway through your innards in the near future, right?" She finally relented to speak directly to Prowl.

He raised an eyebrow but was unshakable as ever, despite her obvious threat.

"Come on, sweetspark! Tell 'em your name, he ain't gonna bite ya... much! Unless you like that kinda thing. Then you can tell him to nibble you all over your-"

"Jazz! That is **quite** enough!" Prowl snapped immediately, tone as cold as ice.

"See? He's even defendin' your honor, bae! He's all good and proper. He'll get ya sweets, take ya ta movies-"

The entire group was in various states of chuckling, while a very visible dark shade of soft purple was developing on Prowl's facial plates.

"Alright, that's quite enough ribbing from you, Mister Smooth Operator. And you, Mister Prowl, it's quite commendable that you're such a nice and honorable person and I appreciate that even in the current circumstances you are still as gentlemanly as ever. "Sarah finally butted in, though she was still chuckling while she was talking. " The pretty girl with the matte black paint job is Michelle Jessica Keats. We call her Michael, Mikey, Mike, Jessie or, most commonly, MJ. Her nickname from the Commune days is Jungler, so you can call her that if it's more comfortable and familiar to you."

"If you prefer to maintain a more professional decorum, Doctor, Lady or Miss Keats would do as well." Gravity butted in, now in a clearly better mood than when they first arrived.

"Lady, huh? She some sort of noble?" Jazz asked.

"My Father is a Viscount, but Gravity here is slightly wrong. While I am heir of my father, I haven't yet inherited the title of Viscountess and as such I am to be referred to as Honorable or The Honorable. But to be quite frank, if you refer to me as such in any other occasion than during an official fancy pants dinner, I will cut you." MJ paused, voice quite calm and only the tiniest hints of a smirk on her face. "And I will cut you. I don't suffer people who are too busy kissing my ass and licking my boots instead of doing their jobs. And as long as we are all introducing each other, the woman over there that just spoke is Gravity, since we're going by Commune tradition, apparently."

"Gunnery Sergeant Virginia Grayson, appointed Executive Officer of the Valkyrie Transcended. And yes, my designation is Gravity."

"You have military rank?" Prowl immediately asked, perking up.

"Yes, in fact of all of us the only actual civilian is Doctor Keats." Ginny clarified.

"Really? And here I thought she was some sort of cyberninja or something." Jazz exclaimed. Prowl whipped his head towards his voice. That coming from Jazz meant that he had had a physical confrontation with this femme personally and yet she was supposedly a civilian. Further investigation was needed. They had so much to discuss as it was. It was going to be a very long night, it seemed.

"I find it offensive that I have to have military training to be as combat ready as I am. I've already had my hands full with you violent and careless vagabonds for years! When the bloody hell would I have the TIME to actually go through the damn course and get a bloody badge!?"

"Nobody is accusing you of anything, MJ. We know this is a sensitive topic for you. Especially after Fia got her military rank post mortem. She had a good laugh out of it, too!"

"It isn't a bloody sensitive topic! You just don't leave it alone!"

"Triggered!"

"Brian, I will geld you in the middle of the night, while you sleep, if I hear another peep out of you on this topic."

That definitely shut him up.

"How about we just introduce ourselves without any gelding, cutting or any other kind of threats and violence, please?" again, Sarah was playing peacemaker.

"At least there is one voice of reason in this bunch." MJ sighed heavily. "Well, I've already been introduced and I introduced Gravity, so that leaves the rest of you to deal with this. I need to take care of my patients, so don't bother me unless you want an instant tranq up where the sun don't shine."

"I like that femme." Jazz declared with a slightly dreamy smile on his face.

"I will be sure to mention to Ratchet the next time we see him that you are quite taken with the femme version of him." Prowl told him, to which Jazz' good mood immediately evaporated and his grin was replaced with an over-exaggerated pout and the group had a few laughs at his expense for a change.

"Well, we're Albert, Brian and Wulfric and we are brothers. Fia over there, that's Dawnbreaker, is our cousin." Al pointed towards where a makeshift metal room divider had been placed to separate an area of the hangar for medical purposes. "And Harry, the other unconscious tin can, is also our cousin, but they aren't brother and sister."

"Cousin's when yer the children of siblings, rite?" Ironhide asked, interested. He could clearly see the resemblance between the mechs, even back when he first met them. He hasn't seen the femme yet, but he supposed they were talking about the femme that Jazz had urgently contacted them about."How'd ye get ta be cousins then?"

"Ah, Ironhide-" Jazz started but he couldn't finish.

"What do you mean?" Brian asked." We get to be cousins like everybody else. Our Mother and Fia's and Harry's fathers are sister and brothers. In fact, Fia and Harry's fathers are identical twins. Mum gave birth to us and our aunts, the wives of our uncles, gave birth to Fia and Harry. Fia also has a younger brother but he's aboard The Prospero 'cus he's still a kid."

"We all come from teh Allspark, Seeker. Don't ye know yer own race ? Ironhide's voice was alarmed.

"Dude, we're born like everybody else back home. I don't see what's the big deal. Big or small, Change or no, we still have children the normal way. Hey Al, didn't we get a little ankle biter born aboard the Prospero a little while ago? I mean, how do you guys reproduce if- "

"I really think we should talk about this later, fellas. Prowl is gonna-"

"You can have children? You can have _**newsparks**_?" Everyone went deathly quiet at Prowl's tone of voice. It was barely above a whisper and very tense, uncharacteristically and indescribably emotional.

"Aw scrap. He figured it out." Jazz cringed while Ironhide went as still as a deer in the open, optics wide and shocked, finally understanding the implications.

"What's going on?" Brian asked, confused.

" **You can have newsparks**!" Prowl stood up, door wings slightly quivering, his venting becoming more erratic, more dramatic by the second.

"Prowl sit down, ya're glitchin' out, mech! Aw scrap!"

The one armed mecha nearly fell flat on his face, his shut down being near instantaneous.

"Shit! Shit! Bloody hell, I got him!" MJ exclaimed. "He's overheated, we have to bring that temperature down. Albert, hand me Curie's solution and a number five! The rest of you fill that cart with snow from outside!"

* * *

Immediately all of them had started moving, not saying a word. At that moment making sure Prowl would be ok had been a priority. An hour later found them sitting around the heater and mostly quiet. Prowl was out of immediate danger and he was what MJ could identify as sleeping.

"You lot will drive me to an early grave." she mumbled out quietly, sighing. She knew she still had so much to learn and discover about their mechanoid bodies but what just happened now had been something that she felt completely unprepared for. The closest resemblance to what had happened was some form of Epilepsy which up until this point had been considered obsolete for mechanoids, along with illnesses such as Diabetes, almost all known infectious diseases and many other human afflictions. It was mostly speculation still, but so far the medical community had been hopeful that they were permanently cured. Up until now. And she, Michelle Jessica Keats MD, now had to be the bearer of bad news to a bright and hopeful group of scientists. And that sucked major balls which was why she felt particularly irritated with Jazz' nonchalance about the whole glitching thing.

At the moment they were just waiting for him to wake up. The mecha, Prowl, had been placed on one of their sleeping bags and she had dutifully tucked him in with two thermal blankets. Right now he was ok but earlier he had scared the living shits out of her with his fainting spell. Apparently this was a thing Prowl did whenever highly improbable, extremely illogical or statistically impossible things happened. She'd want a more detailed explanation but right now talking with Jazz, who seemed the more intellectually inclined mecha of the two aliens, was pretty much out of the question.

The other mecha was talking quietly with the three brothers. He had called them Seekers, which she had found sort of strange. Had they introduced themselves as Seekers? She doubted that, it didn't sound like something that they'd introduce themselves as. She made a mental note to ask about it later.

She sighed again and quickly checked Prowl's status. Still sleeping like a baby. Good. The mecha needed the rest. As much as he was an incredibly stuck up prick, he also happened to be under her care and in need of extensive medical treatment as soon as possible. In her current to do list, he fell right under Fia in terms of priorities, and while she was stable and on her way to recovery, it would be a very long time before she'd be fit enough for active combat of any sort. The same went for Prowl, for whom she was already devising a proper rehab and a long and extended talk with their blacksmith, whose job would be to prepare the parts for his new arm. For his optics she'll have to personally construct suitable replacements. And she still had very little ideas as to where to begin with his overly abused door wings.

Those particular appendages couldn't be replaced just like that. They were in possession of sensory organs that had complex structures on submolecular level that transmitted any sort of sensory input to their brains (or processors). It would be easy to replace the door wings with equivalent prosthetics but the sensory organs associated with said appendages were impossible at this point to be replicated. There was still a very high chance for Prowl to lose up to 70 percent of his sensory apparatus within each wing at this point and for her that was a worrying prospect. Having a similar build to his, MJ had grown very reliant on her door wings, especially in combination with her visor. But for him, who apparently had spent his entire life with said sensory organs, that would be like becoming nearly completely deaf and very short-sighted overnight. It would be a terrible prospect. She hoped she could save as much as possible of his wings' sensitivity.

She looked back at where Ironhide and Jazz were. Jazz was listening with apt attention to Sarah's tale of the Blitz. There was literally not a single person over 20 that didn't remember at least a little bit about how things were during the Blitz.

Short story? It was Hell. It was the End Times. But they had made it through.

Ironhide, on the other hand, was telling Fia's Viking Boys some sort of war escapade that he had participated into. Apparently all really important discussions were put on hold for tomorrow, after a good night's rest.

MJ sighed tiredly. Ginny was sitting opposite of her, maintaining a comfortable silence and maintaining a quiet vigil over every single person. Jaeger and Lewis had gone to sleep just 15 minutes ago and Fernandez was sifting through their medical supplies and crunching numbers about how much usefulness they can get out of them now that they had three extra bodies to maintain. Food and energy supplies wouldn't be a problem. They had a new team arriving in approximately three and a half days, if her memory served her right.

Tomorrow she'd be having Fia out of the medically induced coma and into hopefully some state of wakefulness without having to resort to tie her up. Then there was Harry whose life threatening but easy to fix wound would have to have him down under for at least two more days until the welds were treated properly by his regenerative nanites. Harry probably wouldn't even scar with how cleanly the blaster shot had pierced him through.

A large, warm hand on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. She immediately looked up to see Sky's pensive face giving her a small encouraging smile that looked a tad bit sad. He seemed so quiet and withdrawn tonight. She hoped she could help him get over whatever this was that was going on with him. He was too kind a person to be going through such a thing.

"You should go to sleep." he said.

"I can't. I need to write up the reports and then check on everyone. And then I have to help Fernandez catalog our medical supplies. I've got work to do." she mumbled the last part out, stifling a yawn while rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"There will be time for that tomorrow." Skylar tried to reason.

"Probably, but chances are something happens by the time it's tomorrow and then I'd have to write twice the amount of reports and deal with whatever injuries you vagabonds acquire."

"You know best, Michelle. But I am worried for you. You need rest."

"There is no rest for the wicked and therefore there won't be any rest for me either. You should worry more about yourself Skylar."

 **A/N: If this chapter doesn't give you a final hint about what's up with the timeline, I don't know what will. I hope you will have as much fun as I did writing up the conversations with Prowl, Jazz and Ironhide. Anyways, next chapter Fia wakes up, Raf deals with the missing Scout teams and I get to introduce the Decepticons, hopefully. I will try to upload the next chapter in the next few days if I am able. I'm looking forward to reviews and possibly suggestions for a good summary :D**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Another hiathus, and a plethora of excuses that involve my mum getting her kidney removed after barely convincing her to start treatment of any kinds. Mum is fine now, thank God. So, I've been busy as well. Mostly catching up with real life and figuring out what to do. I am trying, I really am, to keep my stories updated, but by the time I get home I feel completely drained and just want to relax. And writing my chapters for the stories I got running takes time and effort to organize, to make sure I am in the proper mindset to portray the characters as they should be.**

 **Anyways, Book One of Vestige Dawn is pretty much complete as a summarized draft. I've got the characters down, I got the villains down. All I need to do is find the right time to write. Of all my fanfictions, I really want to complete this one and Hinata the Dragonborn the most.**

 **This chapter I wanted some stuff to happen. I don't know if I've managed to get the conversation the way it should be, but I think if it isn't there, its well over halfway to what I wanted it to be. Donnie's awake now at least.**

 **Well, without further ramblings, here is ...**

 **Chapter 14**

The unknown terror  
That stood alone  
Passed from the days of the early suns  
Through worlds of lost belief  
Laid waste and buried deep

Summoned to be set up to fall  
But there's no fear  
That lives inside this soul 

Inside this world  
There is no way back to forgiving us  
Undone, deliverer  
The sinful and the saviors of the innocent 

And so  
Keepers of old  
Keep us from cold  
Let us fight once more  
Till our honor is restored

The unknown terror  
That lives below  
Breaths the flames from the dying suns  
And lives to wake the dying ones  
The dying ones

 **Tear of the Goddess - Pentakill**

I stretched out my arms and I looked into the eyes of my grandmother. She was the way I remembered her best, with her elegant thin hands, adorned with jewelry, with her blue eyes, the same I carried back when I was still flesh and blood, and that knowing, gentle smile. And she held my son in her arms. She had Ori.

"Give me my son." I said. It was not so much a plea as much as it was an order. There were just some things I could not let pass, even to the likes of my grandmother. I wanted to hold my son and I wanted to do it now. And, by God, was my son beautiful. His soft blonde hair shone like silk in the sun, his brown-golden eyes were glinting merrily as my grandmother bounced him lightly on one knee. Ori held something in his hands that I've seen before, something important, something alien. I paid it no heed given that my grandmother was ignoring my request.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she glanced at me and smiled sadly.

"I can't, dear."

"Give me my son. I have to hold him. I need him." this time my voice cracked, the pleading dominant over the order.

"I know, honey. I'm sorry."

For a while. We just stood there. Me- seeping with emotion and turmoil, and my grandmother serenely bouncing Ori.

"You have to find him, you know."

"Find who?"

"Save Orion, dear."

Save Orion? But... I already failed.

Ori is dead.

I wake up. I open my eyes. MJ's visorless face above mine. She looks like shit. I feel like worse.

"Rise and shine." she says with the same tone someone would say "About dang time, you son of a bitch!". But MJ doesn't usually swear, she's more into that passive aggressive thing, which may or may not be worse and which is also hilarious to watch when said passive aggressiveness isn't pointed in my way.

Everything hurts by the way, which is a total bitch in its own right. I don't want to move and I am hungry as hell. And thirsty.

And I miss Ori. My sweet little light of lights. Oh God, I miss him so!

"Hey! Fiona! Breathe! Focus on me. We found aliens. Made some friends. They look like us, by the way."

I breathed in and out slowly, forcibly trying to let go of the grief and misery that seemed to be choking my very being (and probably everything else in a wide range.)

"Friends?" I repeated, trying to imagine what that may have seen.

"Indeed. Apparently they wrecked their world in some sort of Civil war. Obviously they didn't say so, but you don't have a scrap of soldiers fighting over even less scraps in a forsaken frozen outpost. They were starving, more or less."

"You said some friends."

"Hn." She smirked, glad that I was still catching on as quick as she has known me to."We met the other guys as well. Purple gryphon storm troopers."

I chuckled, which was a bad idea in retrospect as everything hurt to begin with. I winced but I couldn't help keep a cringey smirk.

"Please tell me that will be in the official reports. I'd love that to be in the official reports. Imagine Gramps' look on his face. Stuff of pricelessness right there!"

"I am not even joking, Fia."

"So, what's the bad news?"

"Toli's knee is busted, Harry is a mess and I still have him down under, but he will make a full recovery."

My heart-spark hitched when I heard that and a quick glance sideways, as painful as it was to move so fast, told me all that needed to be told – Harry was lying there, unconscious but stable. I felt for his presence and relaxed, relieved that he was fine. WOULD be fine.

I released the breath I was holding and turned my attention back to MJ.

"And you? Your visor's been ripped off."

"Avalanche." she said, unusually tightly lipped and with such an obvious tint of aggravation that I could not help but get immediately suspicious and was a story behind that. I didn't feel like pressing about it right now but I will as soon as it was feasible and convenient. MJ was neat like that as long as you knew when to push her buttons. And if she allows you to do so. She's like a cat that way – a douchebag cat that plops down on the floor like a spoiled brat and looks at you straight in the eye and blinks slowly, telling you in their kitty way "Nyan! Just try it and make me do whatever it is that you want me to do! I will poop in your shoes regardless!"

Or something like that. It's her passive aggressive ways, you see.

Ahem.

I strained to look around me, but MJ had curtains around me. Hey, my wings are missing and I'm naked under the sheets! At least I've got two blankets to keep me somewhat warm.

"Time?" I asked curtly, desperately trying to ignore how groggy and tired I was feeling on top of everything else.

"We are getting reinforcements either later on today or sometime tomorrow."

"Any other stat rep?"

"We are setting up defenses and the ET's are helping. One of them is blind and one armed, the second is a classic meatshield gunslinging military type and the third one is a playboy chatterbox that Number One is constantly shushing. And he also decyphered the English language in less than 30 seconds, or so Sarah says. I think Number One wasn't an exact description of the man. Let's call him number two. He claims to be second in command of these...Autobots."

"A second in command? I gotta talk to him." I made great efforts to get up, only to be foiled by MJ, who shoved me back down on the cot."

"You will do nothing but rest. If it wasn't for the chatterbox, that you tried to kill by the way, you'd be already dead. He saved your life."

"Even more reason to talk to them. This is important. I may not be in the best condition, but I am sound of mind."

MJ snorted at that.

"Sure."

"Fuck you, MJ. I am sound of mind enough to do my job up to specs." I glared at her, but I could tell that she was still craddling that amusement by the shine in her eyes.

"You're naked and look like shit."

"And that matters to me how?"

"Fine. He's blind and one armed anyways. And I am too tired to argue. Alright, I will have you prepped in a second. Just need to tell everyone it's safe to come down now." She stood up to leave but then realized something and turned back to me. "Actually, you can wrap this blanket around you. I don't feel like going back and forth to the Snow Fort to get more things for you. I am completely knackered."

I raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. This will be the best first contact negotiations ever. If Grampa doesn't decide to kill them on the principle of being near me when naked, Damn, now I have to ommit that from the official report. But I am keeping the purple gryphon storm troopers. Haha! Can you fucking imagine that? I gotta see one of those, there is no way MJ isn't pulling my leg with that!

888

 **:: She's awake. ::** Came MJ's voice through the com.

 **:: We noticed. ::** Ginny grumbled out, sparing a glance towards the three autobots who were still wide-eyed and overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. In her opinion tough soldiers like them shouldn't be acting like babies. Something didn't quite add up.

 **:: She wants to talk to Prowl. Send him in. I'm going to sleep now. Don't bother me unless someone is dying. ::**

 **:: Understood. I'll handle things from here. ::**

Virginia sighed. She was supposed to be Fiona's XO but that was mostly only on paper. Most of the time she either argued or physically fought with her commander who was far from the exemplary shining star that everyone portrayed her as. The Poster Girl for Humanity, people called her. What her commander was actually was along the lines of an emotional and psychological wreck with severe post traumatic stress disorder, survivor's guilt that was somehow still unresolved, seventeen years after the fact and the most clinically clean and efficient self-destructive tendencies she had ever seen. In short, Fiona Johnson did the job and everybody else in her clique held her together.

She was not in Fiona's clique. She didn't try to be. Virginia only ever wanted to do her own job and her duty, and she often found herself wondering why the bloody hell did her commander take her in at this post when all they ever did was argue and assault each other.

With an internal sigh she turned to look at the three aliens that they were currently harboring. A sorry, starved lot they were. And yet, their morale was unbroken despite spending who knows how long here, fighting the enemy tooth and nail. Well, figuratively speaking, of course. There was strength in that perseverence. And Virginia could respect that.

"It's safe to go back in." she stated simply, and while her people went back to their business, the three Autobots stood stock still, staring with what she could classify as shock and apprehension.

"That...that was a punch in the...what did you humans call it? Ah, yes! A punch in the gut!"

Virginia could argue that the experience was more akin a punch to the balls, the way they had tensed and somewhat doubled over, but she really couldn't care less about semantics. She was already annoyed by their antics as it was. Her nerves were worn thin at this point. She had never been the patient sort and now she had to babysit full grown aliens on top of the unruly lot already halfway through the facility's doors.

A glance told her that General Johnson was sitting up, which she found unadvisable, but the Doctor Keats probably helped her up. She was still in the area designated as their impromptu medical wing, surrounded by makeshift tarp curtains for at least the illusion of privacy. Not that mecha generally cared about nudity. It wasn't like they had anything to hide. It was all machine, metal and cable, not matter they still nurtured a human soul underneath (she hoped). She fought for her humanity, damn it! And she wouldn't let go of it, not for anything!

"Get used to it." Virginia said. It was all that was needed to be said. The Commander had her heart on her sleeve and while she had many schemes and little underhanded (and often convolutedly concealed) things going on at the same time, she always had that one goal in her mind and that was the betterment of humanity.

It was a terrifying thought that someone could dream and think so deeply and so darkly. There was something taboo about the way people could empathize with each other now. Mecha people that is. She still remembered when the Commander woke up that first time. She still remembered the panic, that suffocating feeling of wrongness, of helplessness. But she also remembered the near infinite will to fight no matter what. She also felt the love and the hope, the bittersweet grief that drove her mad and for a small moment, she had understood everything.

It was like a distant dream now, though. Surely the Commander was half mad at the very least if not completely bonkers by now. Who would not be with such soul-wrecking, crippling grief? Virginia understood. But it was like a moment of clarity achieved by the mistiest and murkiest means and now that understanding had become more of a reminder everytime she felt that familiar constriction wherever her heart used to be. Everytime in moments like these, to be exact.

"That's...that's not healthy, bae." Jazz said after a while, looking oddly somber and less perky than usual.

"We make the best of what we have, Autobot." Virginia said evenly."Prowl, the Commander wishes to speak with you immediately."

With that she turned to get inside herself. A part of her felt satisfaction at how they reacted to Dawnbreaker's field. Fear was a good reaction as far as she was concerned. It meant that these Autobots will have at least the notion in their minds that humanity was not to be trifled with. Another part found it somewhat strange that they still hadn't shaken themselves from the initial shock. She'd have to keep an eye on them at all times.

888

"Prowl? Is- Is that what ah think it was? Vector fragging Sigma, mech! It can't be! C'mon Prowl, don't glitch out on me ol' buddy, ol' Prowl, ol' mech. Speak tah me, whisper sweet nothin's in mah audials, whatevah. Just...Just tell me that ain't a Prime. It CAN'T be a Prime!"

"That's ah Prime ah-rite, Jazz." Said Ironhide instead, the look on his face as grave as his vocals.

Of the three, Ironhide was the oldest. In fact, he was probably older than Jazz and Prowl combined. That alone made him the most qualified to confirm Jazz' fears. Well, the fears of the three of them. It was a well known fact back in the day that Primes were more or less not just political and religious figures, but also blessed by divine providence and by the power of the matrix with a certain kind of strength. A type of power that made any and all mechs and femmes certain that this was a leader before them. In part, that power was due to the Matrix of Leadership. In part, it was the drop of divinity within that mech's (or rarely femme's) spark that swayed the masses. It was hard to describe with words that specific sensation that the three autobots had come to associate with their Prime's gentle strength and steadfast nature.

That wave of malevolence that had passed through them, a malevolence born of grief, helplessness, frustration and misery, was like a perversion of all that was holy to them. It was torn apart and put together again, wrongly. It was vicious where Optimus had been gentle. It was tumultuous where he had been calm, serene even. It was a will of fire, a passion like no other, zest, stubbornness, chaos, a raw, savage, unbridled fury, as sweet as sin and as sour as death. It was everything that was not Optimus and it was there, an amalgamation of opposites that tore through them and sweeped them away in indescribable currents, like a furious acid storm, like Unicron himself had torn Cybertron apart with them still on it.

It was as terrible as it was glorious and they reveled in this sensation as much as they were terrified by it.

And all of this in less than a sparkbeat. And then it was as if it had not been.

How had these people survived such a terrible thing? They spoke so highly of their commander, of this Dawnbreaker. Perhaps it was indeed best to let Prowl speak with her. Of the three of them he was the most sensitive and with his glitching problem he was also the most unqualified as well as qualified person to do this. They needed to enter proper official negotiations, though. These humans were as friendly as they could allow themselves, with being reserved about certain things. They showed kindness and compassion, and yet were ready to rip them to pieces, should they prove their own claims false.

There was a sort of desperation clinging to these people that they had not seen in their own kind, but rather in the ranks of the Decepticons. Decepticons with the camaderie of Autobots, in search of peace, exploring the universe and generally...just, being Human, Jazz guessed. All of them were so different. Even the fleshies. They spoke in different dialects, they came from different cultures, had differing opinions on practically everything. But there was also banter, some rough-housing, and despite their overall dire situation, their spirits and morale was kept high.

How does one even live with such an amalgamation of chaos?

How does one survive what they have?

But, most importantly, how will he get himself on their ships to meet some more babes! They had a ratio of one mech for every ten femmes, or so one of those Seekers told him. Babes! Sexy, lonely, NUMEROUS babes! Everywhere!

"Jazz, I will go speak with their leader now. Keep in mind my instructions."

"Sure thing, Prowler." he pretty much missed whatever Prowl had told him, of course. Ah well, Ironhide will fill him in.

"It's Prowl, Jazz." the Autobots' Second in Command replied automatically as he headed inside, slowly, with great care not to step on anyone or trip. He almost looked like he was taking a leisurely pace and was not actually without the use of his optics.

"So...Ironhide, what did Prowlie say?"

Ironhide exvented exasperatedly and looked to the sky with a quick prayer to Primus to give him just a bit more patience with the likes of Jazz. After counting down from ten, the older mech turned towards Jazz.

"The usual, Jazz. Dun cause a scene, dun be a nuisance and teh stop flirting with Executive Officer Gravity. An' every'un else fer that matter."

"Dat bae's totally hot." Jazz said extra dreamily to which Ironhide snorted.

"Ah ain't gunna save ya if she tries ta kill ya again, Jazz."

"Well, we both know Prowlie's already got dibs on the medic femme. She's a piece o' work, Hidey. Ya'd think ol' Hatchet raised her 'imself!"

"One o' these days Prowl will snap an' kill ya, Jazz." Ironhide said semi-seriously.

"Hide? Is it me or is their Commander...Wowzah! She is!"

"What?"

"Hidey, look!"

It took Ironhide a few moments to find his vocals.

"Ah well. Look at that. Prowl's gotta be teh luckiest unlucky mech ah know."

There, in all her almost naked glory, stood the battered and tired looking Dawnbreaker sans all of her armor, and wrapped in a silvery thermal blanket that made it look like a strapless mini dress, showing off the near entirety of her legs, the looks of which made Jazz both feel like he was overheating and also realize that, despite her rather large size, she was in fact a Seeker build.

The welds, most of which he had done himself, were already repairing themselves, something that Jazz immediately took note of. They looked like them, but had their differences it seemed. He also noted the femme seeker's stance. She carried herself like a seeker alright. She was straight as a beam, her shoulders squared and her chin held high. As she waited for Prowl to reach her, she glanced discreetly around her, making note of what everyone was doing and Jazz could practically see her going through everything that was surrounding her, making plans and contingencies, not unlike Prowl himself.

For a moment their optics met and when Jazz gave her his trademark cheeky grin she smiled at his antics and gave him a playful wink. Maybe, just maybe, Jazz thought, she might not be as bad as he had thought her to be. She was tired and, frankly, exhausted and battered, but she still found it in herself to do what had to be done, to watch over her people and, what really struck Jazz, to try and give them the proverbial olive branch (What was with English and all these archaic metaphors and symbolism stuff anyways?).

She turned her attention from Jazz towards Prowl and her blue optics looked him over from top to bottom, sizing him up, her gaze calculating and far more serious than the playful, somewhat wry smile that played on her lips.

"You must be Prowl, yes? My name is Fiona, but most people also call me by my moniker Dawnbreaker. Using either one is fine." The Femme Seeker introduced herself. Up this close, Prowl could still feel the aftershocks of her powerful field. She was straining herself for this, that much was obvious and whatever had caused the violent reaction of grief and pain that had swept over them was now a mere memory, though still gripping her, and, as a result, at this small distance, it was gripping him as well.

Her introduction was informal, much to the dismay of his aching proper decorum protocols, but given their circumstances and what he had learned of her from her comrades, Prowl had come up with at least a 37.54 percent chance that she'd go for this kind of easy going, informal approach. She had a military rank, she had titles that she could have, SHOULD have used, but instead of parading her power to him, she had opted for a very Optimus-like way of doing things. It both made him relieved and made his spark ache at the thought of the missing Prime. She was honest, open, curious and, most of all, hopeful. But just like her comrades, she was weary of him, of all of them. A wearinesss born of terrible, horrible past experiences. She was weary and ready to face him and all of the challenges that their interractions (the interactions between Humanity and Cybertronians) would present to them in the future.

"My designation is Prowl, I am Second in Command of the Autobots and their military strategist. My logic circuits dictate that there is a 89.41 percent chance that you wish to speak with myself in terms of diplomatic exchange."

"At the very least, yes." She said curtly, not having any trouble with his particular way of speech (especially because it sounded peculiar to the other humans in English). It was ...refreshing." I mean, you guys are the first sentient species we've met that haven't actively tried to anihilate us from the get go. And, ugh, I really don't want to make this about the Blitz, you were probably told about it, I think. But. Eh. I just want this to work. And I want to help you guys. We can work out everything else from there. "

It was idealistic, it was almost with a note of sparkling-like wonder and it came straight from the spark of this femme. Even with his damaged sensory systems, Prowl could still detect all of this through the sheer power her field possessed.

"While I do have the authority to initialize talks with your people, I'd rather do so in the presence of all the figures of authority aboard my fleet. What I can offer you right now is something kinda like sanctuary. All three of you are in dire need of hospitalization, especially you, Mr. Prowl. Once that is out of the way I will see what I can do to work towards getting you an embassy aboard the Valkyrie, which also happens to be my flagship. What say you, Mr. Prowl?"

"Your offer seems reasonable, Madam Dawnbreaker." Prowl had almost called her Madam Prime, but thankfully his processors were fast enough to stop him. She definitely possessed the authority of a Prime. What was worse, Prowl could not determine if this was just a quirk of character or if she was a genuine Prime, and not just a wielder of the Matrix of Leadership by force. He needed more data for his systems to properly assess the situation. " What does this offer of sanctuary mean for us, exactly, if I may be so bold to ask?"

"We will give you medical attention as well as your own rooms aboard my ship. At this point what I really want is to talk with you, with your people. What happened here? This place is like an abandoned wasteland and MJ said that you were... that you were starving."

There was emotion in her voice. Compassion.

"We, the Autobots have been at war with the Decepticons for a very long time. I am not entirely certain your time measurement system will believably portray the scope of the war we have been in. I am capable of presenting you with both a detailed and a summarized version of our history, though I am of the opinion that you, Madam, are not in a state to go through either versions."

The Commander smiled at him with an exvent of amusement. He did not see the smile but he could feel it, as well as the feeling of selfdeprecation concerning her own condition.

"I've been through worse, Mr. Prowl. Right now the most important thing is to make a connection between our people. Learn from each other. And, if the Lady Fate is willing, work together for the betterment of all."

Why did that feel so much more weary than what it sounded like? A jaded kind of hopefulness. Desperate and full of grief. The sensation of all of this was gone as soon as it came to be and Prowl pursed his lip plates together in thought.

"You put great emphasis on peace and unity, Madam Dawnbreaker, and yet you come here, armed to the teeth, if I may use one of your own human phrases." Prowl was starting to get the hang of those, though his processors were still struggling with the archaic nonsence and chaotic drivel of it all. It was an uphill battle.

The Seeker femme leaned forward, towards him, an action emphasized by the rustling of the fabric she was covered in and the oh so quiet grunt of pain and discomfort that accompanied any and all of her movements. Prowl felt scrutinized, he felt as if that oh so very light air of acerbic amusement that surrounded her hiccuped, as if it had been a thin veil that had been ripped asunder by swift, turbulent winds.

"Do you fancy games of chance, Mr. Prowl? You certainly seem to like knowing your numbers."

"Ah." Prowl exclaimed quietly. Usually, Prowl did not have the habbit of encrypting the meaning of one's words. But even he, a mech as far from being a socialite as he was, knew that what she had spoken held a double meaning. It was in the tone of her voice, the spike of her field, the way she had leaned in, both curious and taut from the stress of just talking to him.

No.

Scrutiny did not even begin to explain what he felt wafting from her. She was hanging on every single one of his words, of his movements, emotions even. It was as if she was capable of accessing his very programming, as if she was capable of gleaming into the truth of his very being without him even being aware of it (except that he was).

Was this an interrogation? No. His logic circuits had calculated within a reasonable error margin that this was her trying to figure them out all the while doing her very best to protect her people. She was, however, doing it in a very roundabout, Decepticon-like way that Prowl did not like, not one bit. This was not an interrogation. But depending on where their conversation took them, it could turn into one, as well as getting himself and his two Autobot compatriots incarcerated.

"I do not see myself as a mech who thrives on danger, Madam. Nor do I especially fancy endangering my fellow Autobots. Thus I believe the answer to your question is no. I do not fancy games of chance. "

"I don't like gambling away the lives of my people, either. I will do my very best to make sure all of these people go back home safe and sound. I know it's not always possible, but I will do my very best, Mr. Prowl. Contrary to popular belief, I don't like games of chance but they sure like me. I think you know what that feels like, don't you? I play to win and so do you. That's why the three of you are still alive. Were there more of you here? Probably. But it's just you now, isn't it? You and the other guys. The enemy." her vocals were barely above a whisper at the end, like a string of sweet nothings whispered by a jilted, vindictive lover.

The best of Optimus and the worst of Megatron. That was what she felt like. And he could not even see her. He did not need to see her. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

"So, since both of us hate gambling, how about we skip the card tricks and play this straight? I did not come here by choice, but now that I am here, I might as well make the best of it. Who the hell is after you and what can we do to defend ourselves from them? I will go on a hunch and say getting rid of you will not get rid of those jokers, which, by the way, I wouldn't have done anyways, since it just plain ain't right. But hey, it's an option. It's there. I don't like it, it doesn't like me either, but sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do. Sometimes all the time. You never know."

Dawnbreaker plopped her arm on the table, the swift action making her cringe and placed her chin on her hand, looking straight at him and again with that maddeningly irrational sense of dark amusement building up in her despite the contradicting waves of compassion, hope, dread and grief.

There was something so fundamentally wrong with her! How can anyone function with such an emotional schism that probably ran as deep as their spark!? Prowl set such notions aside and focused on the actually important parts of what was happening. Wordplay aside, this strange Seeker femme had provided him with vital data for his simulations. She had said that she had not come here by choice? That meant that either she was here by complete accident (something that he could not give more than 0.0001 percent chance, and that with the most accurate astimate of the margin error) or somebody had made that choice for her. She either did not know who that somebody was or she was not allowed to divulge such information. Second, just like the rest of her team, she was unaware of who the Autobots and Decepticons are, down to the point where she was openly asking about it in such a manner that would reveal not just important information about the Decepticon forces here, but through it she'd get important information about the general presence of Autobots. Which was really just the three of them at this point, compared to the Decepticons' two thirds of the Commanding Trine, namely Skywarp and Thundercracker, as well as the infamous Seeker Femme Slipstream, who was known to be nearly as good, if not just as good as Starscream himself in terms of dastardly, convoluted plans and innovative ideas.

And then...

Then there was Overlord.

Prowl suppressed the shudder that was threathening to spill down his spinal struts at the memory of how effortlessly he ripped off Prowl's servo. There were still shocks of phantom pain down his missing limb. He was still uncertain how he had made it alive off of their ship, the Darksyde.

These dark memories of the not so distant past, along with the results of his simulations ran by his logic circuits cemented his decision at the end.

"I will attempt to present the data on Decepticons in a timely fashion, Madam Dawnbreaker."

He had almost called her Madam Prime again. It was painful and difficult for so many reasons.


End file.
